


Through His Eyes

by LittlestWolf



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Consulting Criminal, Criminal Stiles Stilinski, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, FBI Agent Derek Hale, M/M, NaNoWriMo, OCD, Psychic Stiles Stilinski, White Collar Crime, kind of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-01
Updated: 2018-05-31
Packaged: 2018-08-28 12:22:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 29
Words: 66,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8445673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittlestWolf/pseuds/LittlestWolf
Summary: A (kind of) psychic Stiles gets offered a deal to leave his 8 year prison sentence early and be a criminal consultant with the FBI. Agent in Charge Derek Hale is assigned to be his handler on his first day back after a four month leave due to an undercover case going wrong and resulting in the death of his partner. Derek keeping his job as Agent in Charge relies on the success of Stiles and Stiles' eventual freedom depends on their success together. Simple enough.





	1. These Streets

**Author's Note:**

> This is a National Novel Writing Month project, meaning my goal is to pump out 50,000 words in the month of November, which will result in this story having some errors throughout since I will be focusing on quantity over quality. Ideally, this will also mean I'm updating daily and finishing with a pretty good sized 'novel'. I have about four chapters planned, so who knows how well it will go after that.
> 
> Tags will be added as I continue. 
> 
> The idea is a weird mashup of Psych and White Collar (both great shows on USA Network) and some cases will be borrowed and tweaked to fit my vision.  
> No copyright infringement intended.

These streets are yours, you can keep them  
I don't want them  
They pull me back, and I surrender  
To the memories I run from

Oh, we have paved these streets  
With moments of defeat

But even if we won't admit it to ourselves  
We'll walk upon these streets and think of little else  
So I won't show my face here anymore  
I won't show my face here anymore

_______________________________________

On his first day back to work in four months it feels like he never left. He wakes up to an alarm that was never turned off, works out at the gym across the street from his apartment, showers while his coffee brews, eats a bowl of oatmeal while scanning through the news channels and then leaves his house by 7. He drives the same route as he always did, just with a little more caution to keep his eyes on the road along that stretch of I-15 that still makes his stomach twist and his heart beat faster. He wipes his palms on his thighs as he glances in his rear view mirror, wondering if Cora had been right about moving, but instead vows to take a different route to work the next morning. It would make what was a 20 minute drive longer but a chance to avoid seeing the few miles that make him sick. He pulls into the parking garage, flashing his badge at the gate attendant without rolling his window down and tightens his tie as the gate lifts. He parks in the space marked 32 and takes the stairs, huffing at the smell - something he had forgotten.  
  
There's someone new at the front desk which he remembers Isaac mentioning briefly last month.  
  
"How can I help you?" She asks, holding her finger in place in a book.  
  
He just shakes his head as he passes her, eager to get back to his office. He flips his badge at her when she calls after him and doesn't wait to hear the apology.  
He takes the elevator to the second floor after quick deliberation - Greenburg has someone stopped on the stairs and he doesn't want to get caught in conversation.  
  
Erica and Boyd are waiting at his door and Isaac cheers from the coffee maker when he steps out of the elevator. A few other people greet him from their desks and some don't even look up from their computers. Good.  
  
"Briefing in the conference room in ten minutes," Boyd announces. "Have your reports ready for Agent Hale."  
  
Erica has some sort of candle or wax melt burning in his room. He scrunches his nose at it as he shuts the door behind him.  
  
"It's lavender," she tells him. "It helps keep you calm."  
  
"It stinks," he tells her, rolling his eyes. "And I'm already calm."  
  
"Oh please," she says, rolling her eyes. "I can practically smell the nerves radiating off of you."  
  
Isaac comes in and offers a mug to Derek. "God, I forgot how much you terrify them. The place was almost cheery while you were gone."  
  
"Glad to see Boyd kept order," Derek says, fidgeting with his tie.  
  
"Of course I did," Boyd says, too seriously for how lightly Derek made the comment. "I think my more relaxed methods were good for morale."  
  
Derek nods. "I don't really care as long as our success rates have stayed high.”  
  
Erica rolls her eyes. "Did you relax at all?" She pushes. "You fall back so easily here."  
  
"This is my job," Derek says, powering on his computer. "And it wasn't my choice to leave."  
  
She sighs. "Right. Well, welcome back then. Boyd wouldn't let me make a banner."  
  
Derek narrows his eyes. "Well, thank god for Boyd then."  
  
Derek moves to the conference room instead.  
  
When people shuffle in shortly after, he notices that only a few bother to even look his direction and even then, none look him in the eye. It doesn't bother him.  
  
  
They've done alright without him in charge, a couple people got away with shorter sentences than Derek would have hoped for, but on the opposite side, his team managed to close some high-profile cases that weren't on the news. He'll want to look over all the case files after the meeting to check performance levels and make sure it wasn't just Isaac, Erica and Boyd carrying everyone in his absence, but he's content with what he's heard.  
  
At the end of the report, Greenburg talks about the three new cases that came in over the weekend and passes files out. It's easy for Derek to break the team up into groups of 5 to tackle them. He tries to ignore Garcia's eye roll when he assigns a Ponzi scheme case to her, but ends up raising his eyebrows at her instead. Her cheeks turn red and she quickly leaves the office, an apology whispered behind her.  
  
Derek straightens up when his boss, Finstock, enters the conference room. He's followed by Gerard Argent. Derek narrows his eyes. Isaac clears his throat to get Erica's attention away from her laptop. She glances between Derek and Argent nervously.  
  
"Hale, can we talk privately?" Finstock asks, glancing at Isaac, Erica and Boyd. Boyd stands quickly, helping Erica collect the files between them. Isaac pats Derek's shoulder as he exits the room.  
  
"Welcome back," Argent comments as Boyd closes the door behind them.  
  
Derek doesn't look at him. "Finstock. What can I do for you?"  
  
"I talked to your therapist this morning, Derek. She had a lot to say."  
  
Derek narrows his eyes. "I was cleared."  
  
"Despite agreeing to stay off work for six months, and it only lasting four months, yes.” Finstock says.  
  
"I'm fine, sir." Derek says, standing.  
  
"If you were fine, you would look me in the eye." Argent comments.  
  
Derek glares in his direction, anger rising in his chest.  
  
"Enough." Finstock says quickly. "Your therapist did clear you, but she had some concerns. I will be keeping a close eye on you to ensure your safety as well as everyone else's."  
  
Derek nods. He's fine.  
  
"When I made this deal with the court, it was when I thought you would be returning next year. Unfortunately, it's not something I can change."  
  
Derek raises his eyebrows. "You made a deal with the court?"  
  
"A felon will be working as a criminal consultant for the White Collar division and will be under your supervision. He will have an anklet tracker that you will have access to at any time."  
  
Derek sighs. He knows that criminal consultants have done great things for the bureau in the past but isn't exactly thrilled to have one on his team. "Why is Argent here?"  
  
Finstock rubs his neck and glances between them. "Gerard is actually the one that brought up the idea to me."  
  
"And how does he know this felon?" Derek asks, though he's already sure of the answer. There's a red hot anger in his throat and his fingernails are digging into his palms. He tries to flex his hands and relax his fists but can't.  
  
"He worked with Kate early on." Gerard says, shrugging. "Whatever differences created there don't involve him. They cut ties long before the incident."  
  
"Incident." Derek repeats, almost snarling at him.  
  
Finstock raises a hand. "We don't need to discuss that - what's important is that he is free of all connection to Kate after 2012 and will be especially helpful to the division as we move into the holiday season."  
  
Derek swallows. "I don't have a choice, right?" He doesn't wait for an answer. "When does he start?"  
  
"He's downstairs now. We will bring him up and set up some ground rules. I'll check in at the end of the week."  
  
Derek nods. "I'll be in my office. I have a lot to catch up on."  
  
He’s halfway out of the conference room when Finstock clears his throat. “Derek, you’re still under review. This going well will look good for you.”  
  
Derek ignores the almost-threat with a roll of his shoulders, moving to his office without looking back. 

  
  


He loosens and then tightens his tie for what seems like the fifteenth time this morning - the one thing he didn’t miss about work - restrictive clothing. He straightens his desk up even though it’s cleaner than it ever was before - Erica’s work, probably.  
  
Speak of the devil. She enters his office without knocking, eyes searching his face for a clue about the meeting.  
  
“What’s Argent doing here?”  
  
“Making my life hell,” Derek says, as if it’s obvious. “I think Finstock threatened me.”  
  
Erica raises her eyebrows. “How so?”  
  
“If my new assignment fails, I do too, sounds like.” He moves to look out at the office. Erica follows.  
  
“New assignment? High profile cases are your speciality, Derek. I don’t think you have much to worry about there.  
  
“A criminal consultant,” He corrects. “Thanks to Argent.” He nods at Finstock exiting the elevator, his hand held tight to the elbow of Derek’s new project. Argent follows with a box behind them, looking smug. Derek knows they can’t see him watching them, but Argent’s face tells him that he doesn’t care - he knows Derek’s watching and that’s enough.  
  
The hand cuffs are a stark difference against the pale wrists they loop around. He looks young - no more than 18, if Derek had to guess. It makes him more annoyed.  
  
“Wow.” Erica says. “That’s…well, welcome back, boss man.” She exits his office as Finstock and Argent make their way up the stairs. Derek tightens his tie.  
  
“Derek, this is…” Finstock frowns and looks at the kid.  
  
“Stiles is good.” He says, smirking.  
  
“Stiles, this is Agent Hale. He will be your handler. You report to him each morning and cannot leave without his permission. He will report your activity and success to us directly. You have a four week trial period before we agree on something more long term. It is then that we will discuss pay. For now, we’ve gotten you a hotel. You will receive a government card for meals and necessities, all itemized receipts must be turned in promptly. You will also receive a cell phone, which we will check and track calls whenever we see fit. If Agent Hale calls, you answer. You have a five mile radius. Your anklet will vibrate slightly at four and a half and will begin to beep as you get closer. If you are to pass out of the perimeter, police will be dispatched and you will be brought into questioning pending return to prison. Agent Hale has a key and can remove the device if needed, but any tampering or removal without the key will result in immediate dispatch. Do you agree to these terms?"  
  
"Can you listen to my conversations?"  
  
Derek raises an eyebrow. Finstock shakes his head. "Should that be necessary, we can arrange for that."  
  
"It's not." He says, rolling his shoulders. "Yeah, I agree."  
  
Argent opens the box and pulls a small anklet out. He pats the couch and Stiles puts his leg up. He doesn't watch as Argent snaps the monitor on. He notices Stiles moves away quickly once Argent releases his hold on Stiles' leg.  
  
Finstock hands a tablet to Derek. There's a small blinking dot on the map where they're standing. He then turns to unlock the handcuffs.  
  
Stiles is staring at Derek, seemingly not noticing that Argent has a hand on his neck.  
  
Argent squeezes his neck as Finstock places the cuffs in his pocket. "You be good, Stiles." Argent says, grinning. "Wouldn't want to give this all up for those four walls again."  
  
"Yep," Stiles says, barely interested. Derek notices that he seems to relax minutely as Argent drops his hold on his neck.  
  
"Take advantage of his thought process," Finstock says. Stiles chuckles softly. "He's...he's got a gift for this sort of thing."  
  
Derek narrows his eye. "Crime?"  
  
Finstock shrugs. "And solving it. He solved over thirty cases while in prison."  
  
"Forty two," Stiles says, rubbing his wrists.  
  
Finstock nods. "Alright. Any questions, you call me, Derek. Remember what we talked about."  
  
Derek nods. Remember my threat, is what he's really saying.  
  
With that, the two of them are alone.  
  
"What kind of name is Stiles?" Derek asks.  
  
"The kind where no one can pronounce my real one," he says, glancing around the room. "First day back in a while, huh?"  
  
"They tell you that?"  
  
He shakes his head.  
  
"How'd you know then?"  
  
He taps his temple twice and winks. "Psychic."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If there are any obvious & horrible mistakes, please don't hesitate to point them out to me! I did a quick readthrough of it before posting, but don't trust myself entirely. 
> 
> Title and beginning lyrics are from These Streets by Bastille.


	2. Things We Lost in the Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things we lost to the flame  
> Things we'll never see again  
> All that we've amassed  
> Sits before us, shattered into ash
> 
> I was the match and you were the rock  
> Maybe we started this fire  
> We sat apart and watched  
> All we had burned on the pyre

Things we lost to the flame  
Things we'll never see again  
All that we've amassed  
Sits before us, shattered into ash

I was the match and you were the rock  
Maybe we started this fire  
We sat apart and watched  
All we had burned on the pyre  
____________

  


Wake up. Push ups. Shower. Breakfast. Library. Laundry. Outside. Lunch. Work. Dinner. Pull ups. Read. Sleep.  
  
The same schedule, give or take, for the last one thousand, four hundred and thirty five days. And probably the same schedule for the next one thousand, four hundred and eighty five days. There's visitation in there some days. Scott brings in an unsolved case every month or so and his dad comes almost weekly. Lydia used to visit more in the beginning but has switched to writing more often, saying it depressed her too much to visit. Stiles felt guilty saying it depressed him for her not to visit, so he didn't. It’s better that way, his friends thinking he’s okay, even when he doesn’t feel like he is.  
  
It's not their fault he's in here and not their responsibility to keep him happy while he is.  
  
It's October 31st when he's called out of work. The guard tells him there's a visitor waiting for him.

  


The visitation room always seems to grow more and more uninviting with each visit. The bars loom over him and there’s always at least one overhead light bulb out, causing a shadow to be cast across the room. Scott once said that it’s stark against Stiles’ skin, making everything seem like a dark reminder of where they are. There’s a steel table, bolted to the ground and two chairs similarly fashioned to the concrete. Stiles once asked a guard what would happen if the visitor was too fat to fit, but the guard didn’t even blink.  
  
This is the first time that the visitor is sitting in the room first - usually Stiles is brought in, carefully attached to the bars and cuffs there, and then left in silence for several minutes until a guard brings in Scott or his dad. When Lydia still came in the beginning, she would always shake off the hold of the guard as soon as she was in the room, crossing her arms over herself and keeping her chin held high. Stiles guessed it was a pride thing, but it always made her seem so angry at the world. One of the guards once called her a bitch while escorting Stiles out and Stiles still feels guilt for not sticking up for her. Instead, he had kept walking slowly, not even acknowledging the guard. He’s glad Lydia doesn’t know. He’s glad no one does. It’s better if his friends and his father think he’s staying defiant and strong-willed, even if it’s only a facade he puts up for them, now. It’s better that way.  
  
He gave up normal life when he started this life - which, to be fair, he can't exactly remember the beginning of anymore. Scott would argue it happened in college, when he got pulled into the wrong crowd, but Lydia would whisper it was long before that. His dad doesn't like to talk about it. No matter when it started, it was still his fault. Every memory lost and opportunity missed was his own fault.

  


It's only fitting that Gerard Argent showed up on Halloween. Stiles wants to turn around and leave as soon as he's brought into the room, but he doesn't. He holds his ground. Apparently, it’s a facade he saves for his enemies too.  
  
He sits across from Gerard, who hasn't stopped watching him since he walked in. He waits until the guard has attached his chains to the chair and leaves before looking back at Gerard. He folds his hands and sets them on the table, refusing to break eye contact even though he’d rather look away.  
  
"Look nice all tied up here," Gerard says with that same devilish smile he always had.  
  
Stiles wants to squirm. He wants to look down. “What do you want?" Stiles says instead, resisting the urge to try to rub the blush away from his neck - the chains won't reach anyway, he knows. It’d just even more humiliating. He can barely itch his nose if he wants too.  
  
“I have a proposition for you,” Gerard says, grinning more. “I think you’ll like it.”

  


He doesn't accept the offer right away. He doesn't accept it for another two weeks, after talking to Scott and Lydia. It had been easy to get Lydia to come back once she knew that Gerard was involved. They spoke in hushed whispers, something the guard had hated and warned them twice about not sounding suspicious. Halfway through, the same guard that was in the room when Gerard spoke to him the week before came in. Stiles wanted to laugh, but instead he rolled his eyes. They spoke freely after that. Of course Gerard has inside guys.  
  
Stiles wait to tell his dad about the deal until after it’s confirmed. It's better that way because he can twist the truth just enough to make it sound more like a deal brought to him by the FBI rather than a deal brought to him by Gerard. He doesn't mention Gerard at all. It's better that way. His dad is extremely excited and Stiles tries to sound excited too, because he would be if the story he told his dad been true rather than the real truth. It hurts, but it’s better that way. 

  


Scott visits as often as possible in the last days before he's picked up. They don’t say much, just sit in comfortable silence. It’s nice, Stiles thinks, but also feels like he’s made a mistake. Like he’s saying his goodbyes rather than welcoming him back into the “real” world. Lydia comes back on the very last day before he’s released.  
  
She brushes her hand across Stiles' cheek and rolls her eyes at the guard that tells her to keep her hands to herself. "You promise you'll call us as soon as possible?" She asks, frowning.  
  
Stiles nods. "I don't really have to make that promise," he says. "It's obvious I will."  
  
"Be careful." Scott says, not looking him in the eye.  
  
Stiles grins despite the lump in his throat. "Always am, dude."  
  
Lydia rolls her eyes and Scott drums on the table. "Alright. We'll see you soon, then."  
  
Stiles agrees.  
  
He feels sick, he feels wrong, he feels like he just signed a death wish. But it doesn’t matter, it’s in motion now and if everything goes as planned, he’ll be free from prison and Gerard’s claws within the next two years. He doesn’t sleep that night. He blames it on excitement but knows there's more to it than that. There's always more.  
  
When he wakes up in the morning, he doesn’t notice he’s tapping the side of his bed until he’s already done it five times, so he taps three more to make it an even eight. He wants to laugh and then feels like crying instead. Of course his OCD wasn’t healed. It was suppressed. Hidden. Stuck behind the bars just as much as he was, but the knowledge of leaving this place was bringing it all forward. 

  


 

Gerard isn't alone when he's released and for that, he's thankful. The other man introduces himself as Robert Finstock, director of the White Collar unit in San Diego. He shakes Stiles' hands and immediately cuffs him, giving no explanation or warning.  
  
It leaves a sour taste in his mouth, making him feel even more like a prisoner than he ever did in prison. Standing next to an expensive car in front of the prison, wearing nice slacks and a button down shirt that Lydia sent and somehow had tailored to his exact size, next to two men in designer suits, but still in hand cuffs - the feeling of freedom never really hit, so it shouldn't be annoying, but it is.  
  
The handcuffs stay on, even in the back of the car. Gerard grins at him when he puts his seatbelt on for him, then clicks it open and fastens it again twice. “That right?” He whispers, still with that wolfish grin.  
  
“Yeah,” Stiles says. He can’t tell if he’s thankful for angry. Thankful for the seatbelt being on, angry that Gerard seems to have kept his tics in mind all these years.  
  
Agent Finstock is in the front, talking over his shoulder to Stiles about his expectations.  
  
Stiles is trying to focus, but there's a burning on his thigh where Gerard has had his hand for the entirety of the ride, making him feel more trapped than the metal around his wrists.  
  
When they pull up in front of a big building in San Diego, Gerard squeezing his thigh one last time before clicking the seatbelt open and exiting the car. Finstock helps Stiles’ out and leads him by the elbow into the building. Stiles straightens his shoulders once inside. He’s flexing his hands repeatedly, but he can’t make himself stop that. He holds his head high and even winks at a woman passing by them on the way out. She rolls her eyes, but it doesn’t matter because she still turns to look at him once more before she continues down the street. It’s enough.  
  
The receptionist doesn’t even blink twice at him, which tells him she’s used to criminals being brought in. It gives him hope that maybe the team he’ll be working with won’t be completely useless. It’s better that way, to not have to hold everyone up while he works toward Gerard’s deal.  
  
He walks beside Finstock confidently, sure that his handler is somewhere in this room and wants too - needs to - look strong and capable. He is strong and capable. Things just get messy sometimes.

  


It’s not until they enter the office of Agent Derek Hale - says the plaque on the door - that he gets a good look at the man. He’s older, Stiles thinks, but then again, most people probably would guess he’s barely twenty, so maybe judging by the man’s face isn’t fair. The guy looks annoyed, like Stiles is a huge problem for him. Stiles guesses he probably is, but he doesn’t let him bother him. He’s free - sort of.  
  
Stiles does notice how attractive the guy is, though. Older or not, boss or not, the man has a beautiful face and even more perfect build. He flexes his hands and grins at him as Finstock struggles to introduce him.  
  
“Stiles is good,” He says, smiling at his new boss.

  


This will be good, he tells himself. Gerard won’t be around much. He can work quickly to help him, while also doing something he enjoys. It’s better that way, better than prison for another four years.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it was shorter & slower than the last chapter. The next chapter will be the first case, so I promise it will be at least slightly better than this. 
> 
> Title and beginning lyrics are from Things We Lost in the Fire by Bastille.


	3. Send Them Off

"It was a slight on my honor, so he deserved it."  
"But we're talking about the most brilliant mind this world has ever seen."  
_______________________________

“Psychic.” Derek repeats. “Of course you are.”  
  
Stiles grins. “Can’t believe they didn’t tell you.”  
  
Derek raises his eyebrows. He can believe it. “Right, okay. And how does a psychic solve crime, then?”  
  
Stiles is still grinning as he looks around the room. “I mean, it’s kind of in the name, isn’t it? Psychically.”  
  
Derek stares back. “Look - you do whatever. Just don’t get in my way, okay? I am in charge here. This is my team.”  
  
Stiles is looking out the window. “Yeah, but they like that guy better.” He says, shrugging. “The one that took your place the last few months.”  
  
Derek narrows his eyes and then looks out at the office too. Boyd is talking to Allison, their weapons and chemicals expert. It looks normal to him. “Whatever,” Derek says, sitting down.  
  
Stiles runs his hands through his hair and flexes his hands. “When do we get started?”  
  
Derek sighs, looking up from his computer slowly. “We leave in five minutes to go interview a family about our next case.” He tosses the case file toward the edge of his desk and nods at it.  
  
“Don’t need it,” Stiles says, tapping his head twice and winking. “Mind if I go look around and get some coffee? I was up early.”  
  
“Getting released from prison really tires you out, huh?” Derek says, rolling his eyes. He looks back to his computer and waves a hand at him. “Stay in the building and be ready to leave in five minutes. No coffee allowed in my car.”  
  
Stiles slips out almost silently, except for the four taps on the doorframe - Derek looks up, thinking Stiles is trying to get his attention to say something, but he’s already gone, halfway down the stairs toward the staff center where the coffee machine is.  
  
Erica comes in almost immediately, shutting the door behind her. “So?”  
  
“So he thinks he’s psychic and Finstock and Argent apparently believe him.” Derek says, sighing. He collects the case file and opens it again. “He wouldn’t even read this, said he didn’t need too.” Erica looks amused. Derek glares. “You could at least pretend not to find amusement in my pain,” He tells her.  
  
She grins and shrugs. “I don’t know, this just seems fun for all of us, Der! A real life psychic at our disposal?”  
  
“He’s not a psychic, Erica.”  
  
“Did he tell you that?”  
  
“It’s common sense. Psychic’s don’t exist. Spirits do not communicate with each other, let alone anyone else. He’s a whack job.”  
  
“A whack job that apparently has some success, otherwise he wouldn’t be in your hands now.” Erica points out, lounging onto his couch. “Don’t be such a pessimist.”  
  
Derek looks out the window and tries to find Stiles, but can’t see him. He resists the urge to check the tablet, thinking no one is stupid enough to try to escape literally minutes after getting a GPS tracker attached to their body. Then again, the guy thinks he’s psychic, so how sane could he be? He reaches for the tablet but sets it down when he spots Stiles by the coffee machine. He’s talking to Isaac animatedly and Isaac looks interested in the conversation. Derek rolls his eyes at himself when a voice in the back of his head whispers that Isaac’s a traitor.  
  
“Isaac is falling for it,” Derek says, rolling his eyes.  
  
“Isaac loves that sort of thing, you know that.” Erica said, barely lifting her head from the armrest on the couch. “I’m taking a nap.”  
  
“No, you’re meeting us at the Pacific Terrace Hotel,” Derek says. “We’re leaving now.”  
  
“Why do I have to go? You have a psychic.”  
  
Derek wants to glare at her until she respects him again, but he’s pretty sure they’d both die before that day comes. “Maybe he can make time go backwards and I can turn you and Boyd down.”  
  
Erica smiles and sits up. “Oh shut up, Der. There isn’t a day that goes by that you regret joining us at that bar. Nice try.” She stands.  
  
Derek just straightens his tie and puts on his jacket because yeah, she’s probably right.  
  
“Plus, I don’t think psychics work that way,” Erica points out.  
  
Derek shuts the door on her laugh.  


  


Derek motions for Stiles to follow him as he passes the coffee room.  
  
“My master calls,” Stiles says, running a hand through his hair. “I’ll see you around. Good luck on your case.”  
  
“This guy’s awesome, Derek,” Isaac says, smiling wide. “Where are you guys going?”  
  
“To work on our own case.” Derek says, resting the urge to roll his eyes.  
  
“Can I come? I’d love to see him in action-”  
  
“No,” Derek cuts in, clenching his fists at his side. “You have your own case. Stiles. Let’s go.”  
  
Stiles winks at Isaac before turning to follow Derek, which only irritates Derek more.  
  
Stiles taps the wall while they wait for the elevator, standing relaxed and comfortable. He doesn’t seem like he’s too concerned about impressing Derek at all.  
  
“Where are we going?” Stiles asks as the elevator doors open, walking confidently inside and hitting the button for the ground floor.  
  
“Pacific Terrace Hotel,” Derek tells him. “Jewelry heist.”  
  
Stiles nods, seeming impressed. “Go big or go home.”  
  
Derek would rather Stiles go home. Or go back to prison. Whatever.  
  
Stiles follows behind him through the building, giving a greeting to the new receptionist. She seems unimpressed which Derek finds an odd satisfaction in.  
Derek nods at his car when they approach in the parking garage.  
  
“A Camaro?” He seems amused.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“How many tickets do you have?” He asks, sliding in carefully. Derek can at least appreciate that he didn’t scuff the side with his shoes like Erica somehow manages every time she rides with him.  
  
Derek glances at him. “I’m an FBI agent.”  
  
“Which is not at all related to the question I asked,” Stiles says. “My guess would be three.”  
  
“Thought you were psychic.” Derek says, even though three is correct.  
  
Stiles chuckles. “Was I wrong?”  
  
Derek doesn’t answer. Stiles looks proud of himself. Derek loosens his tie and tries to reign himself in, too - he can’t let Stiles’ cocky attitude get to him. It was a good guess.  
  
Stiles clicks his seat belt and then un-clicks it twice, finally keeping it locked on the third time. Derek raises an eyebrow at him. “Third time’s the charm,” He says with a wink. “Sort of like your tickets.”  
  
Derek tightens and loosens his grip on the steering wheel as he backs out of the space. Boyd and Erica are getting in Boyd’s truck a few spaces down and he tries to avoid looking at them.  
  
“So office romance isn’t out of the question, then.” Stiles says, leaning back.  
  
Derek narrows his eyes. “Excuse me?”  
  
“There’s three relationships within the office,” Stiles says, narrowing his eyes when he looks at Derek, like it’s obvious. “Figured that wouldn’t be allowed. But that’s cool - I saw someone cute at the copy machine.”  
  
Derek tightens his grip on the steering wheel again. “You don’t get to date any body.”  
  
Stiles grins. “Well that doesn’t seem fair. If Isaac gets to make out with Allison in the supply closet and Boyd and Erica get to kiss at stoplights behind us, why can’t I meet someone?”  
  
Derek glances in the rear view mirror and shoots daggers at Boyd and Erica. “Isaac is - what? Isaac isn’t dating anyone.”  
  
Stiles eyes get wide and then he laughs. “Well, he is…he just hasn’t told you yet, which is - awkward, sorry about that.”  
  
Derek clenches his jaw. Stiles is just trying to get to him. “That’s only two.”  
  
“Yeah, but you don’t really care about anyone else anyway.” Stiles says, shrugging. “But Tyler and the girl who forgets to put her badge on every day - Kara? They drove to work together this morning and have plans later. And Garcia and Goodyear are definitely hooking up, though not sure they would define that as a relationship, so I left them out.”  
  
“And the spirits told you all this?” Derek asks, rolling his eyes. He hopes he doesn’t seem surprised by the information even though it’s all brand new to him. “Why do they care who’s fucking?”  
  
Stiles just grins.  
  
“Look - this is an important case. The father of the groom is very wealthy and has made many donations to our unit. The ring that is missing is worth nearly two million dollars. It was his mother’s ring and is very important to the family. He decided to pass it down to his son and now it’s missing with no evidence. It’s extremely important that we find who is responsible, but more importantly, that we recover the ring.”  
  
“Is that normal for you?” Stiles asks. “Finding who’s responsible but losing the item?”  
  
Yes. Thieves sometimes are faster at getting the item fenced and sold off before they can find who stole it, but then it’s out of his hands - he passes those cases off to someone else at that point. Finding missing artwork and jewelry isn’t worth his time, not when it probably won’t show up for years, if ever. He just shrugs. “Find the ring.”  
  
As they pull up to the hotel, Derek tries to relax. “I just need you to stay quiet. Stay by me. Let me do my job.”  
  
“When do I get the chance to do mine?”  
  
“I don’t need help figuring out who’s making out with who in this case,” Derek tells him, sighing.  
  
Stiles gives him a sarcastic thumbs up and mimes that his lips are sealed. It annoys Derek more than a respond could have.

Stiles follows behind him, moving slowly to wait for Erica and Boyd to catch up with him. “One of you have to text Isaac for me - I totally didn’t know his thing with Allison was on the down low.”  
  
Derek clenches his jaw and turns to look at them. Erica is smiling and Boyd tries to mask a chuckle with a cough. Of course they knew. Derek turns back around and speeds up - he needs to get in the right head space here. His first case back needs to be closed quickly and without trouble. Who cares that his best friends were all keeping secrets from him?  
  
“Boyd I want you to go take a look at the safe and security footage,” Derek says over his shoulder when they enter the hotel. He’d seen the video briefly this morning but didn’t look too closely - not that there was much to see - no one entered the safe room all night. “Erica and I will be talking with the family.”  
  
“Can I go with Boyd?” Stiles asks, flexing his hands. He’s practically bouncing in place, eyes wide and excited.  
  
Derek looks at Boyd, who shrugs, then back at Stiles. “Stay with him. Don’t wander off.”  
  
Stiles nods and turns to Boyd, looking excited.

Derek gets the same story from the family that he had heard in brief this morning.  
  
After the rehearsal dinner the ring was put back into the safe. The wedding party went back to their rooms and this morning, when the groom sent for the ring to be taken out of the safe to prepare fore ceremony later this night, the ring was missing.  
  
Stiles and Boyd join he and Erica in the conference room after only ten minutes. Stiles still seems hyper and excited, but now that he’s been away from Derek and Derek’s had time to focus on other things, Derek can see a calm and confident side of him - something he sees the Brophy family pick up on almost immediately.  
  
“Nothing out of the ordinary on the video,” Boyd confirms. “And the safe isn’t damaged at all. There’s absolutely no sign of foul play there.”  
  
“So my ring just disappeared from thin air?” The bride asks, looking distraught.  
  
“We’ll find the ring,” Stiles says. “I’m confident.” The bride looks pleased.  
  
Derek resists the urge to tell him to shut up. With no evidence or even suspects, he doesn’t want to make any promises.  
  
“And who are you?” Mr. Brophy asks, looking Stiles over carefully.  
  
Stiles interrupts Derek’s answer of saying that he’s a confidential informant to say that he’s a psychic. The groom looks impressed, the bride looks confused and Mr. Brophy looks skeptical.  
  
“Right.” He says, studying Stiles carefully. “Glad to see they’re using my donations well.” It’s sarcastic, but Stiles still smiles brightly at him.  
  
“Mr. Brophy, you said that a few people in the wedding party aren’t here this morning,” Erica says, bringing the attention back to her. “Are you suspicious of any of them?”  
  
“My sister would never,” The bride says, quickly. “She told me she just needed to check on the flowers. She’s coming back soon.”  
  
Mr. Brophy nods. “It’s only Hannah’s sister, the maid of honor - and my son’s friend, Kevin, that aren’t here this morning.”  
  
“Has anyone heard from Kevin?”  
  
Mr. Brophy looks unimpressed as he looks at his son. Jason shakes his head. “No, but…he met a girl at the hotel bar last night, I’m sure he’s just with her.”  
  
“No one in the wedding party did this,” The bride says, frowning. “These people are our friends!”  
  
Derek nods. “We will want to speak with Kevin and your sister as soon as they return. Until then, we are going to speak to a few other people and hotel staff. Please let me know if you can think of anything else that may help us.”  
  
Jason nods and stands, rolling his shoulders. Mr. Brophy shakes Derek’s hand across the table. “I expect you will keep me updated throughout the investigation as well, Agent Hale,” He says, glancing at Stiles. “I don’t want anything to go unseen.”  
  
Boyd and Erica leave the room and Stiles follows, grabbing the door frame as he goes and twisting to look at Derek.  
  
“Never interrupt me again,” Derek hisses. “You don’t get to tell people you’re a psychic.”  
  
Stiles grins. “Why not?”  
  
“Because you’re not. And some people won’t like that. And because you told me you would be silent.”  
  
“I zipped my lips, but I didn’t throw away the key,” Stiles says with a shrug. “Plus it’s pretty obvious what’s happened here.”  
  
Derek narrows his eyes. “You don’t know what’s happening because there is absolutely no evidence. Please just shut up and let me do my job.”  
  
Stiles doesn’t look bothered. He gives Derek another thumbs up and follows him to the safe room.

“It was never in the safe last night,” He says as Derek inspects the safe - Boyd was right - there is absolutely no sign of someone trying to get into the safe.  
  
“Excuse me?” Derek says, barely paying attention. “Did you watch the security footage? It’s clear that Brophy takes the ring from Emma’s finger, places it in the box and then puts it back in the safe before the hotel attendant locks it for the night.”  
  
“That’s what the video shows, yes.” Stiles says. “Can I go find a restroom?”  
  
Derek tells him to go, at least it will give him a few seconds of peace.

Five minutes later, when he’s trying to find the hotel attendant in the video to get a statement, he instead finds Stiles lounging in the hotel foyer with the bridal party. They all look like they’re loving their time with him.  
  
He stands behind Stiles without saying anything and listens to the conversation - Emma, the bride, is the only one who notices Derek arrive. Stiles is talking about how long he’s been a psychic before he stops mid sentence. “Derek, nice of you to join us.”  
  
“I thought you were using the restroom.”  
  
“Which I did.” Stiles twists to look at Derek finally. “But now I’m talking to a group of lovely ladies.”  
  
Derek resists the urge to roll his eyes. “And now you’re leaving. We need to talk to the safe attendant.”  
  
Stiles looks distracted for a few seconds before shaking his head and standing up. “He’s innocent. You’ll find him in the kitchen, eating deserts to try to stop the stress, though.”  
  
“You can’t know anyone is innocent without speaking to them.” Derek says. “Let’s go.”  
  
“Henry is innocent, though. Poor guy is ruining his diet right now and you going in and bothering him will just make it worse. Plus, I’m pretty sure Brooke will return from the florist’s anytime now.”  
  
Derek narrows his eyes.  
  
“She will?” Emma says, looking around. “She told me she would text me when she was headed back - she hasn’t yet.”  
  
“She just arrived,” Stiles says, standing. “Seems she forgot.” He looks at Derek expectantly.  
  
“What?” Derek asks, clenching his jaw.  
  
“Don’t we need to speak with her?”  
  
“She’s not here yet,” Derek practically growls. “I want to speak to the safe attendant.”  
  
“You don’t listen well, Hale.” Stiles says, leaving the couch. He winks at the bridal party as he steps away, rolling his shoulders and flexing his hands. “Brooke is walking in now and Henry is as innocent as I am in this case.”  
  
Brooke is walking in, so Derek thanks the bridal party and hurries to catch up with Stiles. “Not exactly true,” He hisses. “You’re guilty of annoying me, Henry hasn’t done that yet.”  
  
“Not exactly true,” Stiles mimics. “You’re annoyed that you can’t find him and probably blame him for that somehow, so we really are equals here.”  
  
Derek narrows his eyes at Stiles. “Please. Shut up. Let me do my job.”  
  
Stiles grins and then make a sweeping motion with his arms toward Brooke. “She’s all yours. I already know what I need to know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! As always, please point out any obvious and terrible mistakes. 
> 
> Title and lyrics come from Bastille's song Send Them Off!


	4. Send Them Off (pt 2)

"Your mind exists somewhere altogether different. It lives in a world where feelings simply cannot be defined by words."  
__________________

Derek finds Stiles nearly an hour later at the hotel bar. Derek yanks the drink away from Stiles’ hand. “What on earth do you think you’re doing?” He hisses.  
  
Stiles raises an eyebrow. “It’s a water,” He says blandly. “Can I have it back?”  
  
Derek narrows his eyes and sniffs the drink, unsure if he believes him. It’s water.  
  
Stiles holds his hand out expectantly. Derek hands it back begrudgingly.  
  
“Where have you been?”  
  
“Need to walk around, can’t just sit and talk to people.”  
  
Derek narrows his eyes again. He feels like unimpressed and angry will be his new normal. “You can’t do actual detective work to solve a case?”  
  
Stiles shrugs. “Did Brooke tell you that something is wrong with Henry?”  
  
“Who the hell is Henry?”  
  
Stiles looks offended. “The safe guy.”  
  
“Why would Brooke know about Henry?”  
  
Stiles stares at him for a second. “Doesn’t matter - what I’m trying to say is that something happened.”  
  
Derek wants to strangle him. “Something happened. To Henry. And you’re being vague about it because…?”  
  
“Because things are unclear,” Stiles says, tapping his temple. “It’s not like I get a full picture of the crime in seconds.”  
  
Right. He thinks he’s psychic. Derek takes a deep breath. “Look, kid. I am trying to be patient here. But this is a big case and I need to do my job.”  
  
Stiles doesn’t seem bothered. “Kid?” He grins. “You do realize I’m not a kid, right?”  
  
Derek clenches his jaw. “Is that the only thing you focused on?”  
  
“I’m twenty-five, dude. You don’t have to like me. But I do know that the longevity of your position at the bureau depends on the success of our partnership, so I again, I say: something happened to Henry. In the kitchen.”  
  
Derek wants to ask how he knows that his success as Agent In Charge somehow now hinges on Stiles’ success as a criminal informant, but he has a feeling Stiles will just tap his temple and wink. He’s had enough of that. “Fine. Let’s go check on Harold in the kitchen.”  
  
Stiles hops of the bar stool, tapping the bar as he walks away. “His name was Henry.”  
  
Derek wants to ask what ‘was’ means in that sentence, but there’s a commotion in the kitchen that takes his attention instead.  
  
Henry is dead.  
  


Stiles stands quietly at his side until Henry’s body is being loaded onto a stretcher to be taken out of the building. “People die a lot while you’re working?” He asks, seeming bored.  
  
Derek sighs and turns to glare at him - he doesn’t need a reminder of how he was behind in this case - but when he sees Stiles, he stops. Stiles isn’t looking at him, just watching the body being moved. He looks upset. “No,” Derek tells him, finally. “This isn’t normal.”  
  
Stiles nods slowly. “Don’t really enjoy finding bodies.”  
  
Derek nods too and then clears his throat. “The ceremony is starting soon. I want to peek in and see if I can pick up any cues from anyone.”  
  
Stiles’ eyes light up again. “I already know who did it.”  
  
Derek narrows his eyes. “What.”  
  
“Gotta wait tip the ceremony to be sure, though.”  
  
“What are you talking about? You either know or you don’t.”  
  
“That’s not really how it works, dude.” Stiles says, already walking away.  
  
“Stop calling me dude,” Derek hisses as he tries to catch up with him. “You cannot screw this up for me. You need to tell me now what is going on here.”  
  
Stiles stops in the doorway of the kitchen, tapping it several times, like he's considering it, before shrugging and leaving.  
  
Derek snags Erica’s arm as they pass her and Boyd, motioning for her to follow them toward the ceremony hall. “Stiles says he knows who did it, won’t tell me anything.” He hisses, still needing to take large steps to keep up with Stiles’ fast pace.  
  
“What? Stiles, who did it?” Erica says, moving ahead of Derek and next to Stiles instead.  
  
“Where’s the ring, then?” Boyd asks Derek, looking skeptical.  
  
Great questions, Derek thinks. This is really not working out for him. He feels even more behind on the case than he would have felt had Stiles not been around. He feels out of practice and confused and uptight.  
  
“Why are you waiting to tell us?” Erica asks, stopping Stiles from entering the ceremony hall.  
  
“Don’t have it all yet,” He says, shrugging. “The ring is the important thing, here, right? Haven’t found that yet.”  
  
“How is the dead guy involved?” Boyd asks, annoyed.  
  
“Dead guy’s name is Henry and he was engaged,” Stiles says. “Respect is cool.”  
  
Boyd looks away and Derek knows he feels guilty. It’s easy to get frustrated and stop seeing people as people in these situations.  
  
Erica steps away to update Mr. Brophy and tell him about the murder as Derek, Boyd and Stiles file into row of seats near the back. Stiles hops back up almost immediately. “Spirits are calling, give me three minutes!”  
  
Derek narrows his eyes. He’s tired of arguing so he just waves Stiles off. Once he’s gone, he wonders if he should be following Stiles around to make sure he’s not getting into trouble but it’s too late - maybe later.  
  
Stiles slinks back into the seat ten minutes later, just as the procession begins. He leans over to whisper in Derek’s ear. “Got it all.”  
  
“Seriously?” Erica whispers, leaning in closer too. Boyd hushes them.  
  
Stiles nods. “We gotta stop this wedding.”  
  
Derek raises his eyebrows. “You’re joking. There’s no way we are interrupting this wedding.”  
  
“We can’t let them get married,” Stiles says, like it’s obvious.  
  
“Shut up. All of you,” Boyd growls. “It can wait.”  
  
Stiles looks irritated. He leans back and crosses his arms over his chest, looking bored.  
  
Ten minutes into the ceremony, he sits up and grins. Derek glares at him in warning. “Keep your mouth shut.”  
  
He keeps that same pleased look on his face until the priest turns to the crowd. “"If any man, woman, or child has any just reason or cause why these two should not be lawfully wed or joined, speak now or forever hold your peace."  
  
Derek puts together the pieces of Stiles’ sudden attitude change just a second too late, because Stiles is shooting up next to him, arm held above him with the ring finger out proudly.  
  
People gasp and a hushed whisper erupts. Derek drops his head into his hands, unable to formulate a way to stop this nightmare.  
  
The priest finally clears his throat. “What is your reasoning, sir?”  
  
Stiles puts his arm down finally and steps out into the aisle. “The groom is cheating on the bride with her sister and together, they plotted to steal the family ring.”  
  
Mr. Brophy stands up too, looking extremely angry. Emma is shooting glancing between Jason and her sister, looking confused. Jason’s eyes are wide. Brooke looks pissed off.  
  
“Excuse me?” Mr. Brophy asks, crossing his arms over his chest. He’s not even looking at Stiles - his disapproving glare is aimed at Derek.  
  
“They also killed Henry, which was too far, by the way. He caught on and instead of offering to share the profit with him, you poison him? Talk about crossing the line.”  
  
“What are you talking about?” Emma asks, tears in her eyes. “What is he talking about, Jason?”  
  
“Nothing -” Jason tells her, eyes wide. He pats her on the arm awkwardly, but Brooke is enough to give it away - it’s all true.  
  
Derek finally stands. “The ring.” He hisses at Stiles under his breath. He better know where the damn ring is.  
  
“Right. The ring - don’t worry, Mr. Brophy. They haven’t gotten it to the jeweler to be taken apart and sold separately, it’s all in once piece.”  
  
“Then where is it?” Mr. Brophy asks, still angry, still glaring daggers at Derek.  
  
“In Brooke’s bouquet. That’s why she rushed to the florist’s this morning. They couldn’t chance it staying in the hotel room all morning, not with all of us milling about looking for it. She attached it to her bouquet and would keep it close to her chest all evening, until the groom and his poor, cheated, bride left. Who knows when they were going to tell Emma.”  
  
“This isn’t true,” Emma whispered, looking between them. “This can’t be true.”  
  
Erica’s already up and grabbing the bouquet from Brooke, who at first refuses to give it up but then looks around the room and all but throws it into Erica’s hands, a sour look falling across her face.  
  
Erica searches through it for several seconds before nodding. She offers the bouquet to Mr. Brophy after bending the stems of half of the flowers, the ring looped around one in the middle. “Sir?”  
  
He takes it, and nods, looking up to frown at his son instead. Derek’s glad the look is focused on someone else now. Emma runs out, followed quickly by two other bridesmaids and Mrs. Brophy.  
  
Stiles sits, seeming almost bored now. Derek doesn’t care - he has work to do. Erica’s already arresting Brooke and Boyd’s making his way toward Jason, so he turns to the crowd instead. “We ask that everyone stay seated until we can clear the suspects from the room. Thank you for your cooperation.”  
  
“Told you I had it all,” Stiles says, stretching his legs out.  
  
Derek ignores him.  
  


It’s another two hours before they’re back in Derek’s car - Stiles clicks and unclicks his seat belt several times again, but Derek’s too tired to care. He just pulls out as Stiles settles next to him, his foot tapping impatiently.  
  
“What?” Derek asks after several seconds.  
  
Stiles shrugs. “I thought I did well. You didn’t even thank me.”  
  
“You didn’t listen to any of my instructions. You interrupted the wedding.”  
  
“I solved the case and it would’ve been cruel to allow Emma to go through with that. Plus, Brooke could’ve disappeared with that ring in seconds. Had to act fast.”  
  
“You could have told me before it began. We could have stopped the entire ceremony!”  
  
Stiles shrugs again. “No fun in that.”  
  
Derek sighs. He doesn’t think he’ll ever agree with Stiles. It’s going to be a long year with Stiles working for him. He wonders how long it needs to “work” with them as partners before Derek’s reputation is good enough to stand on it’s own for Agent in Charge.  
  
“About this phone,” Stiles says as they pull back into the parking garage. “Am I allowed to call some friends?”  
v “No, you can’t call other criminals with the phone the FBI provided you with,” Derek says, annoyed.  
  
Stiles rolls his eyes as they exit the parking garage. “I do have actual friends, you know that right? Being in prison didn’t make me less of a person? I had a life and family and friends. I still do. They visited me nearly ever week.”  
  
Derek raises his eyebrows.  
  
“You can think I’m shit on your shoe if you want, but you don’t have to be a dick.”  
  
It’s bold. It makes Derek more annoyed. “Is calling your boss a dick really the best way to get him to like you?”  
  
Stiles doesn’t seem to care. “Blame it on being in prison for the last four years of my life. Can I call my friends or not?”  
  
“Who are they?”  
  
“Scott’s a vet in Chula Vista. Do you have pets? He’s great with them.” Derek doesn’t intend to answer, but Stiles seems to have known that. “Lydia is a lawyer.”  
  
“Your best friend is your lawyer?”  
  
“I didn’t say she was my lawyer.” Stiles points out. “I said she was a lawyer. A damn good one. But she only represents people who are innocent.”  
  
Derek laughs at that. “So not you.”  
  
“No, not me.” Stiles says, not seeming to care that he’s admitting guilt.  
  
Derek sighs. “You can call them tonight if they both can come in tomorrow to meet me. If my success is hinging on yours, then I deserve to know who you associate yourself with.” It’s not unreasonable.  
  
“So you admit that I’m a big part of your success right now?” Stiles says, grinning. “I bet they’ll be happy with the results from today.”  
  
“One case isn’t going to sell anybody,” Derek says. “We still have some paperwork to do tonight. Don’t get comfortable.”  
  
Stiles shrugs, settling into the couch in Derek’s office. “Already there, dude.”


	5. Laughter Lines

I'll see you in the future when we're older  
And we are full of stories to be told  
Cross my heart and hope to die  
I'll see you with your laughter lines  
___________________________  


Stiles can see the surprise on Derek’s face when he sees him outside already when Derek pulls up ten minutes before he had told Stiles to be outside. When he slips into the front seat and starts his seatbelt ritual, Derek sighs. “Every time?” Stiles just shrugs. There’s no point in trying to explain himself and the tics that only seem to be getting worse with each passing day of being released. Derek already thinks lowly of him, he doesn’t need to have more ammunition against Stiles - for some people, even knowing Stiles had OCD was too much to handle.  
  
“Scott and Lydia will be there to meet you at 8:45.” Stiles announces.  
  
Derek barely glances at him and the nod of his head is so minute that Stiles thinks he may have imagined it.  
  
“If this all works out, will I get to move into an actual house?” Stiles asks, leaning back.  
  
Derek shrugs. “Not my decision.”  
  
“That place has mold.” Stiles tells him. “Pretty nasty.”  
  
Derek does look at him this time. “Better than prison, I’m sure.”  
  
Stiles narrows his eyes. “Prisons aren’t full of filth and mold, if that’s what you’re saying. If you’re telling me to be thankful, I already am.”  
  
“Then stop complaining.”  
  
Stiles rolls his eyes. “I’m making conversation.”  
  
“No reason too,” Derek says, pulling sharply into the parking garage. He taps the steering wheel impatiently when the guard doesn’t lift the gate immediately for him.  
  
“You could roll down your window and show her your badge like everyone else does,” Stiles suggests, already knowing that Derek won’t give him a response.   
  
“Lydia is going to hate you.” He mutters, mostly to himself.  
  
  


When Scott texts Stiles to tell him that he and Lydia are downstairs, Stiles jumps up from the desk that Erica had cleared for him this morning. He glances up at Derek’s office, considering whether he should go up and tell him that they’re here or just go down to the lobby. He decides to just go meet them in the lobby - Derek’s door is closed and he is pretty sure Isaac has been in there all morning, probably trying to explain why he kept his relationship with Allison a secret.  
  
He’s at the elevator doors, waiting for them to open when Derek appears behind him, face stern. “Were you planning on getting me?”  
  
“I was going to bring them up,” Stiles says as they step onto the elevator. He clicks the button for the doors to shut six times. “You seemed busy.”  
  
“I don’t trust your friends.”  
  
Stiles shrugs. “You don’t know my friends. You don’t trust me.” The doors open. “Though, I could argue that you don’t really know me, either.” He doesn’t wait for Derek’s response because Scott’s smile grows ten sizes when he sees Stiles and Lydia turns around and looks more beautiful than ever and he can’t help but hurry to greet them.  
  
They both pull him into a hug, awkward and long, arms twisted and stuck against each other as the three of them try to make up for years of no contact.  
  
Derek clears his throat behind them and Stiles untangles himself for the most part, keeping an arm around Lydia. She smells like home, something he could never get close enough to remember while sitting across that metal table in the prison visiting rooms.  
  
Scott extends a hand. “Scott,” he says, grinning at Derek.  
  
“Agent in Charge Hale.” Derek says, shaking Scott’s extended hand short and hard.  
  
Scott’s smile widens. “In that case, Doctor of Veterinary Medicine Scott McCall.”  
  
“Lydia Martin, Juris Doctor and Master of Laws,” She crosses her arms. “You tried to convict my client of mine of stealing a painting last year.”  
  
Derek looks annoyed. He crosses his arms too. “And dropped the case when the facts were made clear.”  
  
“It should never have gone to trial,” Lydia says. “But everybody makes mistakes.”  
  
Derek narrows his eyes. “It wasn’t my mistake.”  
  
Lydia raises an eyebrow. “You were the arresting officer, were you not? You pushed the case to trial, correct? I could go review the case files, but I believe we are here for a different reason entirely.”  
  
Stiles loves this. Loves his friends showing off and standing up against his boss. Lydia is the perfect match against Derek and she somehow can get away with nearly everything and Stiles loves it.  
  
Derek’s glaring at Stiles.  
  
“Why don’t we start over?” Stiles says, winking. “Scott, Lydia, this is Derek.”  
  
“Agent Hale.” Derek says, turning abruptly. “We’ll talk upstairs.”  
  
Stiles winks at his friends and salutes Derek’s back, even though he won’t see. Lydia kisses Stiles cheek and Scott laughs as they follow Derek to the elevator. Stiles presses the button for the doors to close only four times, which he counts as a success.  
  
“That doesn’t make it close any faster,” Derek says, sounding annoyed.  
  
“Doesn’t it?” Stiles says, too happy about Scott and Lydia being here to be annoyed by the comment. He turns to Scott and Lydia, trying to ignore Derek behind him. “My hotel is covered in mold. If I die, it was either Derek or the mold. Make sure you pursue both options.”  
  
“I’ll avenge your death for sure, dude.” Scott says, grinning, at the same time that Derek huffs a “I’m not going to kill you.”  
  
“We can never be sure,” Stiles says, with a shrug.  
  
“I thought you were psychic.” Derek says, sounding bored.  
  
Scott grins at that. “Spirits are sometimes unclear, dude.”  
  
“Why does everyone insist on calling me dude?” Derek says, stepping off the elevator before the doors are even completely open.  
  
Lydia fixes Stiles’ shirt collar as they follow Derek up to his office and a warm feeling raises in Stiles’ stomach. Derek’s tough to work with, the hotel is disgusting, he all but sold his soul to Gerard - but at least Lydia and Scott are here.  
  
“I want to set up some guide lines,” Derek announces as he hangs his jacket on the back of his office chair. “Stiles is property of the FBI and as his handler, I have a right to know what’s going on in his life.”  
  
“Stiles is a human being and not owned by anyone,” Lydia says, raising her eyebrows.  
  
Derek narrows his eyes. “Really? Then why do I have the only key to his collar?”  
  
Anger heats up Stiles face involuntarily. “I’m not an animal,” He hisses. “It’s a GPS ankle lock, not an excuse to treat me like I’m nothing.”  
  
Derek clenches his jaw and sighs, avoiding eye contact. Lydia seems extremely unimpressed, which bothers Derek, Stiles thinks. He’s not sure what Derek expected, but he seems like he’s struggling to reign in the emotions in the room.  
  
“I want to set up guide lines for everyone’s safety,” Derek says, sighing. “Gerard and Finstock are breathing down my neck to make this go right. Whether I like it or not, my success is your success right now. I asked you to bring your friends because I need to know who you associate yourself with.”  
  
"I don't want to say you can't see each other, but I will be checking your tracker often and want to know before where you'll be."  
  
Stiles nods - it does seem fair to him, even though he hates to admit it - but Lydia seems unhappy still.   
  
"You get to micromanage every aspect of his life, do you?"   
  
Derek grinds his teeth. "It's for the safety and benefit of every one. I have far better things to be doing."   
  
"Can Stiles move in with me?" Scott asks, eyes trained on Derek.   
  
Stiles is surprised. "What?"   
  
Derek echoes Stiles' surprise. "You live where?"  
  
"Well - outside his radius right now, but I'll move."  
  
Derek narrows his eyes.   
  
"You don't have to do that, Scotty." Stiles says, frowning. Scott and Lydia love their shared house. It's in a good neighborhood and Scott saved the land lord's cat after a car ran over it, so they were getting a great deal. Stiles looks at Lydia. She doesn't seem shocked.   
  
"Lydia will stay at the house in Chula Vista. It's not like we can't afford rent at two places."  
  
"Where will you work?" Stiles asks. "You can't make the drive every day."   
  
Scott shakes his head. "I'll commute for major surgeries and to check on staff once a week or so, but they don't really need me."   
  
"Don't need you? You're the owner."   
  
"And I did a damn good job building my team. The San Diego Veterinary Speciality Hospital is right across the highway from the bureau. They want me to be on call."   
  
"How long have you been considering this?" Stiles asks, feeling somewhere between guilt and excitement.   
  
Scott shrugs. "As soon as you told us that it might happen. I miss you, dude.”  
  
“You’re still on a trial period.” Derek cuts in. “Once we know whether you stay under an FBI contract or go back to prison you can discuss it with Finstock.”  
  
“Well then can I get him a better place to stay until then?”  
  
“You don’t have to do that,” Stiles says, positive that it’s guilt that he’s feeling now.  
  
“You said your place is covered in mold.” Lydia says, watching him carefully. “That’s not healthy.”  
  
“I’m fine. I was exeraggerting,” He lies.  
  
“Nice try,’’ Lydia says, shaking her head. “So can we move him to somewhere nicer or not?”  
  
Derek sighs. “I’ll talk to Finstock later about getting a new room. I’m sure the bureau will cover the expenses.”  
  
“But if they don’t, it will be made clear that we will.” Lydia says, clearly challenging him.  
  
Derek waves a hand at her just as Erica comes in, stopping short with a surprised look on her face.  
  
“Excuse me - I didn’t know you were in a meeting.”  
  
“Maybe you’ll learn to knock,” Derek says, sounding bored.  
  
Lydia extends a hand. “Lydia Martin. Stiles’ best friend.”  
  
Erica’s confused look morphs into excitement. She shakes Lydia’s hand happily and then introduces herself to Scott, too. “This is wonderful! Where do you know each other from?”  
  
“School,” Scott answers, nodding. “Stiles’ dad married my mom last year though, so we’re basically brothers.” Stiles is shocked by the stinging feeling he gets when it’s announced. Of course he’d known, even had to convince his dad to go through with in last year rather than waiting until Stiles was released.  
  
“You were basically brothers long before the wedding,” Lydia says, squeezing Stiles’ hand. “Inseparable since kindergarten, you two.” Stiles smiles at her, hoping the sadness he feels isn’t apparent but knowing it probably is.  
  
“And you?” Erica asks. “How long have you been together?”  
  
Lydia laughs. “I’m engaged to another man.”  
  
“And my poor childhood heart hurts for it,” Stiles says, grinning at her.  
  
Erica looks confused, glancing down at their hands intertwined.  
  
“Stiles was in love with me for years. I avoided the two of them for years, but somehow in high school they wormed their way in.”  
  
“That’s also the exact time I realized I wasn’t really in love with you,” Stiles says. “Your red hair would never work with my pale skin. Our kids would be doomed.”  
  
Lydia rolls her eyes. “Right, we’ll go with that.” She’s practically beaming at him and Stiles knows he hasn’t seen her this happy in years, those concrete walls and steel tables and chairs never got to see these blinding smiles. His heart aches.  
  
“Do you know her fiancé?” Erica asks, seeming genuinely interested. Derek seems incredibly bored and increasingly annoyed - but that’s not much different than his usual demeanor, Stiles thinks.  
  
“Yeah, but unfortunately he has a restraining order against me. I kidnapped him once and held him in the back of a police transport van…he didn’t enjoy himself.” Stiles says.  
  
Scott bursts into laughter and Lydia just shakes her head. Derek narrows his eyes. “Excuse me?”  
  
“I’m kidding,” Stiles says, laughing.  
  
“Well,” Scott says, shrugging. “Not really.”  
  
Stiles grins. “Yeah, guess I did tell the truth, huh?”  
  
Derek looks somewhere between pissed off and constipated. “You stole a police transport van and held someone in it against their will?”  
  
“Is it stealing if you have the keys?” Stiles asks, winking.  
  
“Is it ‘having the keys’ if you made an illegal copy of them in the first place?” Lydia points out, smiling.  
  
“Is it kidnapping if he followed us willingly?” Scott adds.  
  
Derek looks sick.  
  
Lydia laughs. “The restraining order has long been forgotten. Jackson’s in London visitin family. He sends his love.”  
  
Stiles laughs. “No he doesn’t.”  
  
Lydia looks down, smiling. “You’re right. But he was excited.”  
  
“Only because he lives to torture me,” Stiles says, nodding seriously.  
  
Allison pops her head in the door and stops dead, mouth half open, the beginning of her sentence falling flat. Stiles follows her stare to Scott, who looks equally surprised.  
  
“Scott.” She says finally, standing up straight and stepping into the room fully.  
  
“Allison, hi.”  
  
Stiles is confused for only half a second. Then it hits him - Allison. Scott’s Allison, “she’s the one, I think, Stiles. She’s incredible” and then four months later, “we broke up, don’t worry about it” Allison.  
  
“I guess I didn’t make the connection,” She says, looking between Stiles and Scott.  
  
“Yeah, guess not,” Scott says, sounding almost annoyed.  
  
Derek clears his throat. “Allison, can I help you?”  
  
She tears her glare away from Scott and straightens up again. “Yes, a new case just came in. Boyd asked me to get you two for a briefing.”  
  
Derek nods, standing. “We’ll discuss everything further after I’ve spoken with Finstock.” Derek says, looking expectantly at Scott and Lydia.  
  
“Can we take a picture really quick?” Scott asks, waving his phone slightly. “For Stiles’ dad.”  
  
Stiles stops. He hadn’t really thought about his dad much, too focused on making it one day at a time. He feels like a horrible son.  
  
“His dad.” Derek repeats, narrowing his eyes.  
  
“Yeah, his dad. He misses him too.”  
  
“And where is he?”  
  
“Working,” Lydia says. “He tried to get out for a day to visit but a case came up.”  
  
“A case.” Derek repeats, raising his eyebrows.  
  
Stiles sighs. “Yes. My dad is a sheriff. Get your jokes out and move on.”  
  
"Your father is a sheriff." Derek repeats, deadpan.  
  
Stiles swallows down frustration. "Yes. A damn good one."  
  
Derek raises his eyebrows. "His son is a felon."  
  
Stiles narrows his eyes. Lydia steps closer to to him. "I'd be careful with your next sentence, Hale."  
  
Derek glares at her and she glares back. Stiles starts to tap the wall to distract himself from the panic. Scott nudges him and frowns. Stiles stops himself even though he doesn't want too. Then it hits him. "You don't have my file," Stiles says, grinning. "Finstock didn't give you my file."  
  
Derek's face changes quickly from challenging to annoyed.  
  
Lydia finds it amusing too. "Not trusted with the file, very interesting. I've seen it, it's a good file."  
  
"Incomplete, though." Stiles says.  
  
Lydia rolls her eyes. "I really shouldn't have to ask you to not brag about the things you got away with."  
  
Stiles winks.  
  
Derek practically growls under his breath. "We're done here. Take your photo and leave."  
  
Stiles doesn't even care that it's rude, he's too amused with the situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay!  
> Lyrics and title are from Bastille's Laughter Lines


	6. Axe to Grind

Long lost opinions, all the words you can't redeem  
Don't come round here and be a slave to old ideas  
Scream halleluiah if it's a thing that helps you breathe  
Your iron rule has often had me on my knees  
_______________________________

When Friday finally rolls around, Derek is exhausted. They'd been working on collecting evidence against an online scam for most of the week, something Stiles barely helped with, claiming psychic powers only work on humans, not robots. He did paperwork and helped monitor things once Derek promised to get him a better hotel and continued to work harder when Derek said Scott and Lydia could meet him on lunch breaks as long as they stayed close by.  
  
Which meant Derek had been spending his lunch breaks watching Stiles' GPS tracker blink slowly around town, usually going no more than four or five blocks. He would slide the tablet back into a drawer as the tracker blinked near the bureau, but when he would ask Stiles where he went that day, he would just grin and say "you already know", which drove him crazier than it probably should.  
  
Stiles' new hotel was closer to the office and he had requested to walk to work the night before, which Derek had granted suspiciously. He doesn't trust him.  
  
He's making a fresh pot of coffee because whoever was here first apparently only made enough for themselves when Stiles shows up, looking relaxed and comfortable.  
  
On Tuesday after work, Derek checked the tracker mindlessly only to see that Stiles wasn't at the new hotel, but was instead three miles away. Instead of calling, Derek had hurried back into the camaro and followed the map to find him.  
  
Stiles was at a mall, buying new clothes. He didn't seem shocked when Derek stormed inside the Macy's where he was handing over the card, just winked and went back to speaking to the woman at the register. He walked past Derek without a word and didn't bring it up the next day either, which surprised him.  
  
At least Derek can appreciate that he dresses nicely, slacks and button down shirts. No obnoxious colors or patterns. And he looks good, objectively. People take him seriously which means they don't doubt Derek either.  
  
Today, he's dressed slightly more casual, a gray button down shirt paired with a nice pair of khakis, the top buttons of his shirt unbuttoned, revealing a black tshirt under. He looks younger, but still put together. He's running his hands through his hair like always when he joins Derek by the coffee machine.  
  
"Casual Fridays aren't a thing here," Derek tells him, even though he's not actually bothered by it.  
  
"For everyone but you they are," Stiles informs him. "Look around."  
  
Derek does. Stiles seems to be right. Most of the women are wearing sweaters or jeans rather than their normal suits or skirts and even Isaac is wearing a sweater and nice jeans. Derek just shrugs and goes back to waiting for his coffee.  
  
"You could take your jacket and tie off. Relax a little. Fit in."  
  
Derek raises an eyebrow. "I don't need to fit in. I'm the boss."  
  
"Solidarity, then."  
  
"Solidarity." Derek repeats, sighing.  
  
Stiles nods. "You know, unity, agreement. Helps with morale."  
  
"I know what it means, I just don't care."  
  
"Ah, what a good attitude for a boss to have, really." Stiles says. He takes a mug from the rack and starts to tap on the counter top as he waits.  
  
"You seem nervous suddenly." Derek says, sighing. He pours his mug and passes the pot to Stiles.  
  
"Gerard and Finstock are upstairs, so yeah, a little."  
  
Derek turns quickly. His office door is open, but he doesn't see them. "How do you know?"  
  
Stiles seems surprised that Derek didn't know. He shrugs and taps his temple which makes Derek want to shake him, but he rolls his eyes instead.  
  
He straightens his tie as he heads up to his office, ignoring Isaac's greeting on the way up. Stiles is close behind him even though his desk is down below with everyone else's.  
  
Finstock and Argent are in his office just like Stiles had said, their conversation ending when Derek steps inside.  
  
"Finstock." He greets, ignoring Argent. He hates that Gerard was even in his office without him.  
  
"Derek, good morning. We're here to chat about the arrangement. Gerard is going to take Stiles next door while we chat here."  
  
Derek glances at Stiles. He doesn't seem bothered by it, but also doesn't seem to be as excitable and cheery as usual. Derek sighs and waves his hand out the door. "Fine, let's 'chat' then."  
  
Argent leads Stiles out and shuts the door to Derek’s office behind them, leaving just Finstock and Derek.  
  
Derek moves around his desk to sit down, taking his jacket off. “So?” He prompts.  
  
“How was your week with Stiles?” Finstock prompts back, waving a hand at him as he sits down.  
  
“Annoying.” Derek says. “He’s annoying.”  
  
Finstock chuckles. “Gerard mentioned that he may annoy you. He solved the ring case quite quickly, did he not?”  
  
Derek sighs. “He did well.”  
  
“And he’s obeying rules, I assume? You didn’t call to report anything.”  
  
“Yes, he’s obeying rules. I hardly think he would try anything in the first week, though.”  
  
“But you do think he’ll try something?”  
  
Derek shrugs.  
  
“Elaborate, please.”  
  
“He’s a criminal. They tend to all continue with their criminal ways, eventually.”  
  
Finstock seems to consider it for a minute before shrugging slightly. “Maybe. Gerard said he had a lot of promise.”  
  
“Gerard’s entire family are professional criminals. His daughter has a great track record, shall we discuss that?”  
  
Finstock sighs and lifts a hand to stop Derek. “I’ve heard enough. You dislike the man. You are still capable of behaving in a professional manner toward him.”  
  
Derek narrows his eyes. He wants to yell at Finstock, ask if he remembers what happened four months ago. He wants to storm out and leave it all behind - but instead, he takes a deep breath. He needs this job. Needs the unknown behind it, needs the structure. Without it, he might go crazy. “Fine,” He breathes out. “I just think you should be able to see why Gerard’s recommendation of Stiles doesn’t hold much weight in my eyes.”  
  
Finstock nods. “I do understand why you may have a prejudice against Gerard’s opinions.”  
  
Prejudice. Derek scoffs.  
  
Finstock raises an eyebrow. “Has he contacted anyone? Gone anywhere suspicious?”  
  
“He wanted to be able to see some friends from high school. I brought them in to meet them. He goes to lunch with them every day and goes straight back to his hotel most nights. Sometimes does some shopping or walking.”  
  
“Lydia Martin and Scott McCall, I assume,” Finstock says, leaning back. “She’s fiery, isn’t she?”  
  
Derek nods. “He also requested that he be able to leave his allowed area to pick his father up from the airport tomorrow.”  
  
“And you said?”  
  
“I said no.” Derek says, feeling slightly guilty now that he has to admit it to someone else.  
  
Finstock nods. “John is a great man. Wonderful sheriff, very popular in their town.”  
  
“Can I ask why I’m not permitted to see Stiles’ file?”  
  
Finstock doesn’t answer right away. “That’s part of the deal he made. His file is off limits.”  
  
“Have you seen it?” Derek challenges. “Can I know what his charges were?”  
  
“I’m sure you’ve already done a google search, Derek. What you found from research of his trial is plenty of information.” His tone tells Derek that it’s the final time he will talk about it. It makes it even more annoying.  
  
“Fine. As long as my distaste for the fact that I have no access to the criminal file of the criminal under my supervision has been noticed.”  
  
“It was noted before you brought it up.” Finstock says, sitting up straighter. “Do I need to remind you of our talk on Monday?”  
  
“Hardly a talk,” Derek points out. “More of threat. I’m cooperating, am I not? Stiles and I are working together.”  
  
“Working together is very different than working together well.” Finstock says, raising an eyebrow.  
  
“We solved the ring case quickly,” Derek reminds him.  
  
Finstock sighs. “Yes, well.”  
  
“Anything else?” Derek prompts after a moment of silence. “I have to brief my team for the day soon.”  
  
Finstock looks at his watch. “No, that will be all. I want you to take Stiles to the airport tomorrow. Show me that you are willing to make this work. We’ll be back next Friday to make arrangements for the coming months.”  
  
Stiles and Argent are still in the conference room, which makes Derek slightly nervous. Finstock knocks on the window and Gerard motions for him to come in, so Derek follows.  
  
“Derek, Stiles tells me you rushed into the mall earlier this week. He was in his radius, wasn’t he?”  
  
Derek grunts a yes.  
  
“Then there was no reason for you to panic. Give him some freedom to be apart from you, won’t you? He’s charming, I know. But he’s allowed some privacy.”  
  
Derek narrows his eyes. He disagrees with almost every part of that statement, but he doesn’t say anything, just stares Gerard down silently. Gerard chuckles as he stands up. He squeezes Stiles’ shoulder as he passes him on his way to the door. “Alright then, Derek. We’ll see you next week.”  
  
Derek doesn’t answer, instead opts to go to his spot at the conference table, loosening his tie as he goes. Stiles sighs and stands up and starts to leave, but Derek barks at him to stay put for a briefing.  
  
Stiles doesn’t react to the harshness, just leans against the wall silently, eyes on the ground.  
  
“What is your problem, it’s not like you got yelled at. You just tattled on me.” Derek hisses in his direction.  
  
Stiles glances up. “Well, I spent ten minutes alone with Gerard, so who really had the worse time there, Derek?”  
  
Derek can admit that it’s true, he’d much rather be lectured by Finstock than spend any time alone with Gerard. “What did he have to say?”  
  
Stiles shrugs. “Nothing important. Doesn’t make my time any more appealing.”  
  
The team is starting to file into the room and Stiles is quickly falling back into his more confident and cocky personality, winking at Allison as she comes in even though she’s obviously avoiding his glance .  
  
“I’ll take you to the airport to get your father tomorrow,” Derek says under his breath.  
  
Stiles seems to study him for a few seconds before nodding his head. “Thank you, even though Finstock is making you.”  
  
Derek grunts in response, turning instead to his team. Thank god it’s friday. 

 

Derek pulls up to Stiles’ hotel at 8:05, just like he promised Stiles he would. Stiles is already outside, which doesn’t surprise him. He’s practically vibrating with excitement, bouncing on his toes where he’s standing outside the lobby. He slides into the passenger seat, clicks and unclicks, clicks and unclicks and then clicks the seatbelt, greeting Derek happily.  
  
“Can I give you some advice?” Derek says, not bothering to say hello back.  
  
Stiles raises his eyebrows. “Sure, hit me.”  
  
“If you don’t want people to think you’re eighteen, don’t dress like you’re eighteen.”  
  
Stiles grins. “Can I give you some advice?”  
  
Derek rolls his eyes.  
  
“Pretending you hate the world and everyone in it doesn’t go well with your image.”  
  
“My image.” Derek repeats.  
  
“You could do dark and mysterious well, but the angry just doesn’t fit that face.”  
  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  
  
“You have a nice jawline, is all.” Stiles says, waving a hand. “On it’s own, I mean. You’re always grinding your teeth and clenching. You don’t gotta clench. It’s great on it’s own.”  
  
“I regret asking.” Derek says, unsure if Stiles is trying to hit on him or not. “Have you heard from your father this morning?”  
  
“His flight left five minutes early. Terminal 1 for pickup.”  
  
Derek nods.

Stiles is fidgety. He keeps flipping his phone around in his hands, clicking the volume buttons up and down and tapping his knee.  
  
“Is there a reason you’re nervous?” Derek asks, raising an eyebrow.  
  
“Can’t I just be excited to see my father?”  
  
“You’re making me anxious.” Derek tells him, glancing over at him again. The tapping is almost mesmerizing.  
  
“Put on some music or something to distract me or get over it.” Stiles says with a shrug.  
  
Derek chooses to ignore him. 

The long hug Stiles and his father share on the sidewalk outside the airport makes Derek wish he would have made Isaac or Erica take Stiles instead. It's an intimate moment, one that makes him miss his own father for some reason. He busies himself with placing Stiles' dad's bag in the trunk even though it could have easily fit beside him in the backseat.  
  
When they finally separate, Stiles steps back and motions between them. "Dad, Derek. Derek, dad."  
  
His father rolls his eyes. "John Stilinski," he says, extending a hand.  
  
"Derek Hale," He says, taking it. "I'm Stiles' handler."  
  
"Well, I apologize for his behavior. I don't know who raised him."  
  
Stiles claps his father on the back. "That would be you, Pops. All behavioral issues are a direct result of your parenting."  
  
John laughs. "I think it was a lost cause from then beginning, kid."  
  
Derek's not sure how to respond, the longer they stand on the curb the more out of place he feels. He heads to the drivers seat, hoping they follow.  
  
"Derek's not very talkative. I'd say he'll warm up to you, but nothing I've seen makes me believe this." Stiles announces, opening the front door and motioning for his dad to sit there.  
  
John shakes his head as he gets in. "I really do apologize, Derek. This is not how I raised him."  
  
"Exactly how you raised me," Stiles argues from the backseat. "Hey, dad, guess how many tickets he's gotten in this thing!"  
  
Derek feels his neck get hot as he pulls away from the curb. John laughs quietly. "I'm not going to do that, Stiles."  
  
"Why? You've never turned down a game of Guess How Many Tickets before."  
  
"The victim is usually not responsible for your eventual freedom."  
  
"I got it right first try," Stiles grumbles.  
  
"Well, it's hardly ever fair playing against you. It's shouldn't be called 'Guess How Many Tickets' when you don't guess." Derek wonders if John believes the psychic schtick too. He seems smarter than that.  
  
"Derek, tell him to play." Stiles says, leaning forward to put his head between the front seats.  
  
Derek glances back. "You better have a seat belt on," he warns.  
  
"Do you really think I got into a car with an uptight FBI agent and a sheriff and didn't put a seat belt on?" Stiles counters.  
  
"I don't really think it matters who we are," Derek says, rolling his eyes.  
  
"He has a good point," John says, nodding seriously.  
  
Stiles drops back against the seats in the back and grumbles something under his breath. "Shouldn't have ever offered to pick you up. A dirty San Diego taxi would do you good."  
  
John laughs. "Sure, son." He turns to Derek. "Does he behave this way for you, too?"  
  
Derek glances at Stiles in the rear view mirror. "If not worse," he says, even though that's not really true.  
  
Stiles jumps forward again, faking offense. "That is not true!"  
  
"I believe it," John says, ignoring Stiles.  
  
"Any tips for dealing with him are appreciated," Derek says, grinning at John.  
  
John laughs. "I wish I had something to help you. I already tried prison."  
  
Derek is surprised by the laugh that escapes him. Stiles smacks his dad's shoulder and then drops back into his seat, arms crossed.  
  
"Speaking of, can I get the back story on his past as a kidnapper?"  
  
Stiles audibly sighs in the backseat, John laughs. "I would just be wary of any thing that he swears will be a great prank and you should be safe."  
  
Stiles mutters that it was a great prank.  
  
"Anything else I should be aware of?" Derek asks, enjoying Stiles' pain.  
  
"I really don't need my boss and my father sharing handling tips," Stiles says, sitting forward again. "Derek, drop us off at that taco cart behind the bureau."  
  
"You're going to take your father to a taco cart? Erica got food poisoning there last year."  
  
"My father will love the taco cart," Stiles says confidently. "And it's under new management."  
  
"Isaac arrested him a few months ago for operating without a license."  
  
"And he responded by getting himself a license. Stop bringing down the taco cart excitement."  
  
John seems amused. Derek hates to admit it, but he is too. John brings a lightness to Stiles that he didn't expect. It makes Stiles slightly more bearable, but doesn't make him believe working with him will be any easier. He's still faking being a psychic - something he considers trying to bring up with John, but then decides against it.  
  
When he pulls up at the taco cart, Stiles jumps out quickly to get John's bag, but John stays seated.  
  
He turns to Derek and sighs. "Look, Agent Hale. My son is a lot. He's exhausting and annoying and loud. But I appreciate this. He got caught up in the wrong stuff. That Gerard...he just - nevermind, that's beside the point. What I'm trying to say is thank you."  
  
Derek's about to ask what he means about Gerard, but Stiles opens the door. "Stop whispering about me. Let's go, let's eat, thank you Derek and goodbye."  
  
Derek rolls his eyes, but offers a hand to John. John sighs and takes it, shaking it firmly before getting out.  
  
Stiles waves animatedly at Derek until he pulls away, making Derek wonder what trouble he wants to get into. At least John might be able to reign him in a little. Maybe.


	7. Oblivion

When oblivion is calling out your name,  
You always take it further than I ever can.

When you play it hard, and I try to follow you there.  
It's not about control but I turn back when I see where you go.  
__________________________________

  


Stiles walks to work again, which makes derek nervous. He doesn’t totally trust Stiles still, even after seeing him interact with John and seeing that the attitude and cockiness didn’t falter even then.  
  
Derek’s looking through all the information and files on Gerard that he can view without sending a red-flag out to anyone higher than himself. The comment about Gerard that John had made before leaving has stuck in his head all weekend, almost keeping him distracted enough to keep him from constantly checking the tablet to check up on Stiles’ whereabouts.  
  


Stiles comes in and immediately slumps onto the couch, sighing heavily.  
  
Derek raises an eyebrow at him.  
  
“Do me a favor, dude.”  
  
“I’m not your dude.” Derek sighs, even though he thinks it’s probably useless. “What?”  
  
“Fire the person who keeps taking the last cup and then leaving the coffee empty,” he says, covering his eyes with his arms.  
  
Derek wants to chuckle but rolls his eyes instead. “Feet off my couch.”  
  
Stiles drops his feet from the couch, but stays slumped over. He practically looks dead.  
  
“Is your father gone?” Derek asks, half out of curiosity and half out of politeness.  
  
Stiles nods, his arms still thrown over his face. “Took a taxi back to the airport at four am, hence the intense need for coffee.”  
  
“You didn’t ask for a ride?” Derek probes.  
  
Stiles shrugs, finally sitting up. He looks out the window and then slumps slightly again. Derek assumes that means the coffee isn’t done brewing yet. “Nah, you guys had enough time together. Definitely don’t need you two talking anymore, I want to keep my job, thanks.”  
  
Derek wonders if Stiles heard the comment about Gerard but decides he probably couldn’t have. “What did you do together?”  
  
“I mean, you already know, right? That tablet is practically glued to your palm when I’m not within shouting distance.”  
  
Derek doesn’t want to deny it, but flat out admitting it seems wrong too, so he just shrugs. “Your coffee is probably done. We have a consultation in five minutes for our next case, you may want to get some caffeine in you now.”  
  
Stiles moves quickly, almost startling Derek with how quickly he jumps off the couch and moves toward the door, tapping as he leaves. 

  


 

Stiles makes his way into the conference room, mug held tightly in two hands, looking slightly more alert than he did even a few minutes ago. He doesn’t sit, opting to lean against the wall instead. Peter Williams is already sitting across from Derek, looking scatterbrained. Derek waves at Erica to hurry as she and Boyd come up the stairs and then nods at Williams, giving him the go-ahead to begin.  
  
He seems nervous. “Hi, uh, thank you for seeing me - I was expecting for this to take longer, so I apologize if this doesn’t make sense. I just need you to arrest my son for me, he’s into some bad stuff and I need help.”  
  
Derek narrows his eyes, looking over to Erica. They’re not a scared-straight program. They’re the FBI - something he’s about to tell Williams when Stiles steps forward. “He stole something valuable from you, right? What was it?”  
  
Williams looks surprised. “How did you know? Yeah, he did. An original Edgar Degas painting. I believe he’s using it as some sort of collateral, but can’t be sure.”  
  
Derek’s more interested now. Art theft when they already know the thief responsible is an easy case. “Where can we find your son?”  
  
“We can’t, right?” Stiles says, leaning against the wall again. “He’s gone missing.”  
  
Williams looks surprised again. “Yes - how did you know?”  
  
“He’s psychic,” Erica says excitedly. Derek wants to clamp his hand over his mouth, but settles for kicking her under the table.  
  
“Oh, wow,” Williams says, all attention on Stiles. “Can you tell me where he is?”  
  
Stiles grins. “I’m afraid that’s not really how it works, I’m sorry sir.”  
  
Williams nods. “I understand.”  
  
“Can you give us any ideas of where he might be?”  
  
Williams sighs. “No, not really. He used to work for me at my bank - California Bank and Trust - but when he stopped showing up for work but still demanded his paycheck, I cut him off. His cellphone went straight to the answering machine for a week or so, but now I get a dial tone, I think it’s been shut off. I went to his apartment and the landlord said he got evicted, but didn’t pick up any of his stuff - offered to give me the key for the storage unit they put it in, but what am I supposed to do with it?”  
  
“Did you see if the paintings were there?” Erica asks.  
  
“He was evicted prior to the paintings going missing,” Williams says.  
  
“What makes you believe it’s being used as collateral?” Boyd says, typing down notes as he speaks.  
  
“He tried to cash a large check a few days ago. He’s an idiot though, and went to my own bank to do it - they knew I wouldn’t have written him a check with such a large sum, not after firing him just two weeks before and they wouldn’t do it. He stormed out, leaving the check with the teller. Shortly after the painting went missing, it hardly seems coincidental to me.”  
  
Derek agrees with that much. “Do you have any ideas of what he may be trying to do with the money?”  
  
Williams shrugs. “Who knows? I spoiled him and now he’s ruined. I just want to make sure the painting doesn’t get destroyed or something ridiculous. It’s worth nearly thirty million - I don’t think Brandon even knows how much he’s stolen.”  
  
“What painting is it?” Stiles asks.  
  
“An Edgar Degas,” Williams says, seeming slightly annoyed.  
  
“Right,” Stiles says, pushing off the wall. “A Dance Class, L’Absinthe, Place de la Concorde, The Belleli Family? Which Degas?”  
  
Williams seems impressed now, and if he’s honest, Derek is too. “Sorry, I didn’t realize you were a fan of the fine arts. Dancer in Repose.”  
  
“Certainly a beauty,” Stiles says, nodding. He turns to Derek. “If his son - Brandon, right? - If Brandon hasn’t fenced it yet, we have a chance. As soon as it’s fenced, it’s gone. That painting is highly sought after.”  
  
“Comforting.” Williams says, sarcastically.  
  
“But don’t worry, Derek and I are an amazing team, Mr. Williams.” Stiles says with a wink. “I will do my best to locate your precious Degas and will personally see that it be treated with utmost caution while in FBI custody.”  
  
Derek’s annoyed at the almost promise, but it’s not something he can chastise Stiles for now, not while Peter Williams is looking at Stiles and practically glowing. “I am so glad someone that has appreciation for Degas will be on the team that tracks it down,” He says, looking to Derek for the first time in minutes. “Have you seen Degas work?”  
  
Derek has. They’ve recovered a few paintings over the years, and if he’s honest, it’s just a painting. Most of what he’s seen has been unfinished, too. Derek nods. “It’s wonderful.” He hopes it’s convincing. By Williams reaction, it wasn’t.  
  
“How much was the check for?” Erica asks. “You said you don’t think he knows how much the painting is worth, does that mean the sum of the check wasn’t close to it’s worth?”  
  
Williams nods. “Exactly my reasoning. The check was only for fifty thousand.”  
  
“Only.” Stiles whispers behind him, whistling slightly. Williams seems to find it amusing, Derek wants to duct tape his mouth shut and considers the ramifications of doing just that for all future case interviews.  
  
Derek nods. “Please give any contacts that you know of to Agent Boyd and Reyes here. We will contact you often with updates. Please call my cell if you think of anything else or hear from Brandon.” He slides a card over to Williams, standing as he does. He eyes Stiles and nods at the door, thankful that Stiles catches the hint and heads out. “Thank you for coming in, sir. I assure you that we will do our best.”  
  
Once in his office again, he glares at Stiles. “What are you doing, promising the return of a Degas? And whistling at the amount of money he has as if he’s a nice car?”  
  
Stiles face screws up and he grins. “As if he’s a car? Do you whistle at nice cars, Derek? This is interesting information that I will definitely be storing for future use. Thank you.”  
  
Derek glares.  
  
“We’ll find the painting. Brandon has no idea how to fence a painting or what steps it will take to get it sold. If he goes to a reputable seller, we’ll be alerted since you will mark it as stolen. If he goes to someone shady and unpracticed, they won’t take it. They won’t take the chance.”  
  
“And you know this how?” Derek says, crossing his arms.  
  
“Did you forget my title? Having a criminal consultant can be useful if you let it.”  
  
Derek narrows his eyes. “Okay, and what if he finds a reputable seller that’s not an actual reputable seller?”  
  
“He won’t,” Stiles says, with a shrug. “But if you really want me to, I can do some digging. Check in with old contacts and have them keep an eye out for it.”  
  
“What.”  
  
“Either use the criminal consultant to his full potential or not at all, Agent Hale,” Stiles says, leaning back. “I have contacts, you have a missing Degas.”  
  
Derek sighs. Stiles is tapping his desk impatiently. “Fine. But all calls happen here. And I want names of these ‘contacts’.”  
  
Stiles shrugs, pulling out his phone right away. “Sure, the first person I’m gonna call is named Viper.”  
  
Derek narrows his eyes. “Excuse me?”  
  
“You really think we greet each other on a first name basis?” Stiles says, dialing. Derek wonders if he should be concerned that Stiles knows the number of this ‘Viper’ by heart, even after four years in prison. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen this chick in proper lighting even,” Stiles says, still tapping.  
  
“Viper is a female?” Derek questions, feeling more lost than he ever has been before this early on in a case.  
  
“Sexism in the workplace isn’t cool, dude,” Stiles whispers with a wink. He turns around quickly, straightening up. “Viper, hi. Stileshere. Got a couple questions for you.” Derek wants to question why Stiles doesn’t have a fake name, but Stiles is already going him a death glare that tells him to keep his mouth shut. He leans back into his office chair as Stiles paces back and forth, having what seems to be a casual conversation with ‘Viper’.  
  
What has he gotten himself into?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for awkward breaks - if this wasn't a NaNoWriMo project, I would probably do longer and fewer chapters, but this is what you get for now. Thanks for reading, glad you're enjoying it! 
> 
> Lyrics and title from Oblivion by (you guessed it) Bastille.


	8. An Act of Kindness

Oh I, got a feeling this will shake me down  
Oh I, kind of hoping this will turn me round  
_______________________

 

Stiles is on the phone for nearly an hour, jotting down numbers and odd names and moving on to the next phone call. He paces and taps, stretching and flexing throughout each phone call. He seems comfortable and Derek tries to ignore how easily he seems to have fallen back into being a criminal, considering all this work is to find the Degas. Finally, he hangs up and slouches onto the couch.  
  
“Need more coffee,” He says, closing his eyes.  
  
“Any success there?”  
  
“Someone heard a rumor that one was floating around but no one’s seen it. They’ll call me back immediately.”  
  
“Don’t these people wonder what you want with it?”  
  
Stiles grins at him. “No, they don’t need to wonder.”  
  
“What’s that supposed to mean?”  
  
“It means I have a good reputation. I’ve never tried to fence a fake item and always made good on my promises when I purchase items. If I want something, they’re willing to work with me.”  
  
“Should that concern me?” Derek questions, raising an eyebrow.  
  
“If I hadn’t served time in prison and was admitting that, then yeah, you should be worried. But since it’s already been decided that my activities were illegal and therefore frowned upon, I don’t really care how you feel about them.”  
  
“You’re gloating about illegal activities, should I be concerned about that?”  
  
“You should be glad you have a criminal informant that was a successful criminal, really.” Stiles says, standing. “What use would a a shitty criminal be to the bureau?”  
  
Derek doesn’t want to admit that it’s a good point so he rolls his shoulders and shrugs instead. “Go get more coffee and then be ready to leave.”  
  
“Where we headed, boss?” Stiles says, already in the doorway.  
  
“Brandon’s apartment. I want to make sure Williams didn’t miss anything important.”  
  
Stiles nods as he disappears, skipping steps on the staircase on his way toward the coffee machine. Derek laughs out loud when he sees Stiles cursing at it as he makes a new pot. 

  


Ten minutes later, the two of them are in the Camaro, Stiles messing with the radio controls while Derek fights the urge to swat his hands away - it’s better than silence and definitely better than trying to make conversation. Stiles finally settles on a modern rock station, which Derek doesn’t find completely horrible, at least.  
  
“My dad guessed four,” Stiles says, tapping to the beat on his knee.  
  
“Excuse me?” Derek says, raising an eyebrow.  
  
“Four tickets.”  
  
Derek rolls his eyes.  
  
“Don’t worry, I told him he was off by one. He was impressed. Also, probably didn’t want you to know that he did end up playing, so if, God forbid, you ever meet again, don’t mention this.”  
  
Derek’s not sure if embarrassing himself by admitting he’s gotten three speeding tickets to a sheriff is really worth getting Stiles in some trouble, so he just shrugs noncommittally.  
  
“Yeah, never let you guys be alone together. It’s dangerous.”  
  
Derek hesitates for a few seconds before gaining courage and clearing his throat. “You know, your dad mentioned Gerard.”  
  
Stiles glances sideways at him, but when he notices Derek’s watching him, he looks forward again and continues tapping along with the music. “Yeah?” It doesn’t sound as casual as Derek thinks Stiles may have wanted.  
  
“Have they met?”  
  
“My dad and Gerard? God, no.”  
  
“Just found it odd that he mentioned him to me. He sounded like he wasn’t a fan.”  
  
“My dad doesn’t know Gerard, he just knows Kate. Guilty by association.”  
  
Derek can agree with that, but it’s still not the whole truth. “Then why would he mention Gerard specifically and not Kate at all?” Derek pushes.  
  
Stiles is still tapping, but it’s quicker, more nervous than rhythmic at this point. “How would I know? He’s an old man.”  
  
“And I assumed he would like Gerard, considering it was Gerard’s idea for this arrangement.” Derek pushes more, trying to read Stiles’ reactions while also following the GPS to Brandon’s apartment building.  
  
“My dad doesn’t know Gerard’s involved and I’d like to keep it that way, okay?” Stiles snaps, surprising Derek. “He blames Kate instead of blaming me for falling into this shit. As far as John knows, I’m out because of good behavior and Robert Finstock’s recommendation.”  
  
Derek considers pushing the subject further, but his GPS announces that they’ll arrive in seven hundred feet and Stiles already seems annoyed with him, so he lifts a hand in surrender instead.  
  
“I don’t think we should tell everyone we come across that we’re FBI,” Stiles says as Derek parks.  
  
Derek raises his eyebrows in question.  
  
“If he has the Degas for collateral reasons, that probably means we’re not the only ones that are looking for the two of them. Tipping anyone off that we’re looking into it just makes things messy.”  
  
“So how do we get into the apartment?” Derek asks, not wanting to flat out admit that Stiles might be right in this situation.  
  
Stiles presents a key to Derek. “The apartment is empty. We have a key to the storage unit where his stuff is waiting, though. We go in, check it out, we leave. If we run into anyone, we’re just friends of Brandon worried about his financial situation.”  
  
Derek nods as he gets out. “Fine. Where did you get the key?” He considers telling Stiles it’s a good idea. If they’re going to work well together, maybe he should make an effort.  
  
“Slipped it out of Boyd’s pocket. You should let him know so he doesn’t panic later when he goes to leave it in your office.”  
  
Derek decides against telling him it was a good idea. 

  


>

In the storage container marked with Brandon’s apartment number, things are stacked and piled messily. It stresses Derek out to even stand in there and the idea of going through it to find clues is even worse. “We need at least four more people to get through this stuff,” Derek says, flipping through a stack of unpaid bills, many with “urgent” stamps on them. “Williams wasn’t kidding when he said his kid sucked with handling his money. There’s at least six past-due bills and shut-off notices here.”  
  
“We definitely don’t need four more people,” Stiles says, messing around with a tablet. “Williams said he already looked for the painting, so most of what we’re needing to find is a clue to where he may be hiding out. There’s plenty of ideas just sitting out in the open.”  
  
“Right,” Derek says, lifting a business card for ‘Gary’s Garden Emporium’ off the stack of bills. “Because he’s probably hiding out here, at this garden supply store. I’m calling Boyd.”  
  
Stiles narrows his eyes and plucks the business card from Derek’s hand. “No, don’t. I got this already,” He says, tapping his temple lazily. “We need to go here.”  
  
“I was joking.”  
  
“I wasn’t.” Stiles says, seriously. “To Gary’s we go.”  
  
“Why?” Derek asks, feeling like there’s not enough caffeine in the world to deal with Stiles never being clear and precise.  
  
“Because Brandon liked gardening apparently, and anything Brandon likes is worth checking out.”  
  
“Brandon didn’t like gardening,” Derek says, annoyed. “Brandon lived in a one bedroom apartment on the third story - with no balcony. He didn’t have anything to garden.”  
  
“And yet he kept a business card for the Emporium? Definitely the place to go, dude.”  
  
Derek sighs. Stiles probably isn’t wrong. “I’ll go if you stop calling me dude.”  
  
Stiles grins and leads the way out, winking. “No promises, boss!”  
  
Derek glances across the storage room one more time, hoping something jumps out to him to give him a better idea than going to Gary’s Garden Emporium. It even sounds like a terrible place. When nothing does, he sighs, locks the fence behind him and goes to follow Stiles.  
  
Stiles is already at the Camaro, texting while leaning against the side of the car, looking bored.  
  
“Don’t lean against my car,” Derek says, unlocking it and nodding at Stiles to hurry up even though Stiles is closer to getting inside than Derek is.  
  
“Noted,” Stiles says, slipping his phone into his pocket.  
  
“What was that?” Derek says, nodding toward his pocket.  
  
“I met someone at a bar last night. We’re going to hook up tonight.”  
  
Derek narrows his eyes, really hoping Stiles isn’t serious right now.  
  
“Asking for updates with some of my contacts. Nothing exciting. I will tell you if anything comes back to me.”  
  
Derek hopes that’s the truth but is too tired to continue to pry. “You can’t be going to bars.”  
  
“It was a joke,” Stiles says, sighing. “Plus, why not? What I do on my time is my business as long as I’m within my limits.”  
  
“You can’t use your government credit card to get drunk on your Friday nights.”  
  
Stiles shrugs. “I don’t remember the last time I bought my own drink at a bar, dude.”  
  
There’s that dude again. Derek ignores it in favor of raising his eyebrows. “Oh yeah? And how do you get all these women to buy you drinks? A little backwards, isn’t it?”  
  
“Who said women were the ones buying?” Stiles says, sheepish grin on his face. He winks at Derek when Derek looks over at him.  
  
Huh.  
  
“Okay, at Gary’s, I vote that I’m redoing my backyard and you’re my hired help.” Stiles says, barely skipping a beat.  
  
“What?”  
  
“No? Not feeling it? Got it. No hired help.”  
  
“I look way too professionally dressed to be a landscaper.” Derek says. “We both look overdressed to be checking out a garden supply store.” He adds.  
  
“And yet,” Stiles says, leaning forward. Derek follows his glance - in front of Gary’s, there are trucks and vans and every day vehicles. There are people carrying out plants and bags of various items, even someone in a bright green apron that reads ‘Im here to assist you!’ carrying out two bags of soil. But, there is also a row of nicer cars - cars that Derek wouldn’t even expect to see in a grocery store parking lot, let alone a garden supply store. “Look!” Stiles says, pointing.  
  
Derek slows down in the parking lot and follows Stiles’ finger.  
  
He sees a man in a suit walk alongside the building and disappear behind it.  
  
“We’re going where he went for sure,” Stiles says, basically vibrating with excitement. “This just got exciting.”  
  
Derek nods, parking near the line of nicer cars, frowning that his Camaro still looks slightly out of place next to these cars.  
  
“Okay, but if anyone asks, I’m Carlos and you’re Jorge.”  
  
“That’s racist,” Derek says, sighing.  
  
Stiles shrugs. “Fine, you’re Gary and I’m Gary junior.”  
  
“I’m not Gary. What if one of those guys is Gary?”  
  
“Excellent point,” Stiles says. “I’ll be Al Dente and you can be Al Fresco, and together we’re on a mission to save pasta from sloppy Americans.”  
  
Derek sighs. “How about we cross that bridge when we get to it, Stiles?”  
  
Stiles shrugs, opening his door. “Fine, but if anyone asks and you can’t come up with anything better than Bob, I’m quitting.”  
  
“You can’t quit.” Derek reminds him, locking the car.  
  
“Prison is better than a partner that’s bad at a fake name on the fly, dude.” He hurries down the side of building, waving Derek on behind him. Derek rolls his eyes before speeding up slightly to catch up, hoping it’s not obvious that he’s trying to think of something better than Bob - just incase the situation does really occur.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a busy next couple of days and don't know if I'll be able to update - I am not abandoning the story or giving up, though!


	9. Overjoyed

  
Oh I feel overjoyed  
When you listen to my words  
I see them sinking in  
Oh I see them crawling underneath your skin  
_____________________  


Behind the building, Derek's surprised to see a giant hedge maze. Stiles is practically vibrating with excitement, standing at the entrance and staring at Derek like he's about to propose a race.  
  
"I love mazes," Stiles says, grinning.  
  
"I hate them." Derek waves him forward.  
  
"Rude," Stiles says, leading the way animatedly. "Maybe you're just bad at them."  
  
"No one is good at mazes." Derek says, craning his neck to look down a turn even though Stiles passed it without second thought.  
  
"That's not true. I bet I can finish this one without a single mistake."  
  
Derek narrows his eyes. "That's nearly impossible."  
  
"Lunch is on you," Stiles says, turning to offer his hand.  
  
"Technically, lunch is on the bureau either way."  
  
"It's the principal behind it," Stiles says, pushing his hand closer.  
  
Derek rolls his eyes and shakes it lazily. "Let's see it them, genius."  
  


It takes less than five minutes to get to the center. Built right into the hedge maze is a door, locked with a key code.  
  
"Now what?" Derek says, testing the door carefully.  
  
"Now you tell me how incredible I am." Stiles says, picking up the key code.  
  
"What, you're just going to try a few things?"  
  
Stiles grins. "I don't have to try, I know."  
  
Derek's about to question how in hell Stiles would know the code to the door in the middle of the giant hedge maze, but Stiles is already tapping at this temple in that irritating way he always does.  
  
The door buzzes and unlocks. Stiles turns the handle carefully, checking to see that Derek is ready. Derek has one hand on his gun, ready to fire.  
  
"Run like hell rather than start a gun fight in a hedge maze, please," Stiles whispers, pushing the door openly slowly.  
  
They've gone unnoticed, mostly because the man they had seen going into the maze was shouting about getting the money he borrowed to pay them back, effectively keeping the attention of everyone else in the garden.  
  
Stiles presses a finger to his lips and Derek nods impatiently - of course he knows to keep quiet.  
  
An older man in a nice suit is standing nearby, listening to the man grovel for more time. He seems bored.  
  
Suddenly he pulls garden sheers from a table nearby and a second man grabs the hand of the begging one.  
  
Derek draws his gun and is about to charge in to stop the loss of a finger by garden equipment, but Stiles grabs his arm and shakes his head furiously.  
  
"He won't do it," he whispers harshly.  
  
It appears Stiles is right. He waits until the man stops screaming and begging to keep his fingers and then tosses the garden sheers behind him in favor of screaming in his face.  
  
Stiles lets the door shut carefully and pulls Derek away, back toward the entrance.  
  
"What are you doing? We need to look into that." Derek tries to wrestle his arm away from Stiles.  
  
Stiles shakes his head. "We know exactly what that is. Did you see Brandon? No. Did you see the Degas? No. We need to keep on searching for the important parts of the investigation before revealing ourselves to them." He stops Derek from turning down a dead end. "The more Brandon thinks the Degas is safe in his possession, the less likely he is to do something absolutely stupid with it."  
  
"We know exactly what was happening? I just saw ten guys in suits fighting about money and threatening bodily harm with garden sheers. What does that tell me?"  
  
Stiles narrows his eyes for a second, seeming confused. "How did you ever solve cases without me? That was an illegal poker ring. Gary's seems to be a money laundering business."  
  
Derek narrows his eyes at the building. "Who builds a garden supply store for a money laundering business?"  
  
"Someone with absolutely no imagination. There are way more options here."  
  
Derek rolls his eyes.  
  
"So now we just need to find out how to get ourselves a spot."  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
Stiles looks bored. "A spot. We need to find Brandon and the painting, right? Unless you want to hangout in that hedge maze hoping Brandon comes dragging a Degas through sometime in the next couple of days, we need an in."   


Back at the office, Stiles slides into Derek’s chair without asking, powers on his computer and taps in Derek’s password as if Derek had spoken it aloud to him.  
  
“Why do you know my password?” Derek hisses, pushing Stiles’ hands away from the keys.  
  
Stiles grins, pushing Derek’s hands back in favor of pulling up an internet browser page. “You really shouldn’t have to keep asking.”  
  
Derek rolls his eyes. “You’re not psychic. Stop with that.”  
  
“How else would I know your password? It wouldn’t be the sticky note you keep in your desk drawer?”  
  
Derek narrows his eyes. “I don’t keep my password on a sticky note in my desk drawer.”  
  
“Exactly,” Stiles says, winking.  
  
Derek sighs. “Fine, whatever. I’ll change it later. What are you doing on my computer?”  
  
“I’m attempting to get an in with Garden Sheers.”  
  
Derek looks at Stiles’s search and growls. “Really? ‘Man who owns Gary’s Garden Emporium but also runs an illegal poker ring’?”  
  
“Yeah, it seems a little too nondescript, right?” Stiles types some more.  
  
Derek starts to push Stiles out of his chair now.  
  
Stiles fights back. “Man who owns Gary’s Garden Emporium but also runs an illegal poker ring and also threatens to cut of the fingers of those who owe him money!” He says, keeping a hand on the mouse as Derek gets his chair back. “It’s exactly what we need!”  
  
“Stop screwing around,” Derek says, hitting enter anyway. Derek knocks Stiles hand away one last time and Stiles falls dramatically on the floor, laying on his back. “Hey, it got something that time,” Derek says.  
  
Stiles shoots up. “Really?”  
  
Derek rolls his eyes. “Yeah, a Russian students’ paper on how people rely too heavily on google.”  
  
Stiles rolls his eyes and falls back to the ground, defeated.  
  
Derek tries googling Gary’s to see if there’s an owner or contact listed on their website, but while Gary splurged on hedge mazes and convincing signs, he did not splurge on website design and Derek gives up after the third option on the dropdown menu ends up redirecting back to the home page.  
  
Stiles hands suddenly wave in the air, fingers moving as if they were typing. “I’m getting something, move,” He says, moving to sit up. He goes back toward the keyboard again.  
  
Derek rolls his eyes. “Cut it out,”  
  
Stiles ignores him, hands moving across the keyboard and typing lazily. His search brings up an online poker site. He stands up, looking closely. “I bet Brandon met them here.”  
  
“Okay, there’s no way you know that. You thought of an online poker domain name and made a show about bringing it up.”  
  
Stiles clicks to create an account. “Can’t hurt to check it out. What, afraid I’ll find out how terrible your poker face is?”  
  
Derek rolls his eyes. “You don’t need a good poker face to play online poker, Stiles. That’s one of the draws for most people.”  
  
Stiles shrugs. The username he’s picked is “DontLose2Agirl”. Derek narrows his eyes. “What kind of username is that?”  
  
“One that both intimidates and welcomes,” Stiles says. “No dude betting real money on an online poker game is going to waste his time talking to a dude in the chatroom. Go borrow someone else’s computer and make your own account if you don’t like it.”  
  
“I just think it’s a lame username.” Derek says, not wanting to admit that Stiles might be right. It seems to be a theme. It annoys him more.  
  
“What, did you want to try “NotFBIagent1” or “ActualCriminal” instead?” Stiles moves his hands like weighing things on a level. “I don’t know, so many options. Oh! Maybe “AnitaDick” or “ConnieLingus”?”  
  
Derek wants to leave. He considers it. “Shut up. Please.”  
  
Stiles looks pleased with himself. “Guess we’ll stick with the original then. Are you sure, though? It says it can’t be changed for thirty days.”  
  
Derek rolls his eyes. “I’m getting coffee. Don’t steal anything while I’m gone.”

  


Erica stops him for an update at the coffee pot, which Derek is happy to find filled and ready for him when he gets there - at least he has better luck than Stiles. Derek tells her briefly what they found, but leaves out the fake names that Stiles seems to have stored up - he doesn’t want to have to repeat them and Erica would definitely bother him about them until he did.  
  
By the time he gets back to his office, Stiles is leaning forward, looking at the screen carefully.  
  
“Trying to connect with it psychically?” Derek asks, walking around his desk to look, too. Stiles is playing poker.  
  
“Yeah, exactly. Maybe they have tells within the game too. I gotta win.”  
  
Derek rolls his eyes.  
  
“Oh, by the way - I had to put in real money to get in at the same table as Brandon. So I won’t get a receipt but that definitely got charged on my card.”  
  
Derek narrows his eyes. “How much real money?”  
  
Stiles shrugs. “Only three hundred. I’ll win it back.”  
  
Derek wants to kill him. “We don’t even know if Brandon is in that room!”  
  
“Of course we do. I’m chatting with him now!” Stiles clicks open a chatroom.  


DontLose2Agirl: Hope you don’t mind someone new playing!  
BranWilly16: Welcome. It will be a pleasure to beat you.  
DontLose2Agirl: We’ll see about that ;)

  


“You used a winky face?” Derek asks, frowning.  
  
“It worked though.” Stiles says, confidently. He points proudly back to the screen.

  


BranWilly16: I could buy you coffee to make up for it.  
DontLose2Agirl: I’ll probably be buying yours, but sure. :*

“What is that face?” Derek asks, narrowing his eyes and getting closer to the screen, tipping his head to the side.  
  
“God, you look old right now. It’s a kiss, dude.” Stiles purses his lips tight.  
  
Derek rolls his eyes. “What is your plan here?”  
  
“Well obviously we meet him for coffee. But we can’t, I mean. Erica has too. He won’t stick around if we’re not actually a girl and I’m not willing to put on drag - this ankle jewelry just doesn’t match any of my dresses.”  
  
Derek rolls his eyes. “Fine. Finish that game. Win the FBI’s money back or you’ll be hungry for the week. Come get me when you have a meeting set up.”  
  
Stiles gives him a thumbs up and clicks back to the game, leaning forward and looking closely at the computer again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be absent a few days again for the next week or so, I'm so sorry.
> 
> For all those in the US that may be reading this and feeling discouraged after the results of this election: please remember that there are people willing to stand with you and fight by your side. You are not alone.  
> Please reach out to someone if you need help <3
> 
> Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-8255  
> Trans Lifeline: (877) -565-8860  
> Trevor Project: (866)-488-7386


	10. The Draw

In my left hand there is the familiar  
In my right hand there's the great unknown  
I can see the madly different grass there  
But I'm drawn to wilder nights at home  
_________________________ 

  
“Well, good point, Derek - there is some good news here.”

Derek narrows his eyes.

“I won the money back, really - got five hundred dollars extra, too, but I won’t gloat. I’m amazing, really. But here’s the thing, man - uh, I set up meeting with Brandon for today.”

“That’s great,” Derek says, turning to look at Erica. “We’ll need you to meet Brandon soon - Stiles was pretending to be a woman.”

Erica opens her mouth to respond but Stiles interrupts. “Well, that’s the problem - scary boss man Garden Sheers showed up and kicked Brandon from the room, threatened him some too - I got a screen shot for you saved, don’t worry - but I followed him to a different room and kept flirting and then when I asked to take him up on the coffee, he wanted a picture and I mean, you didn’t have any of Erica saved onto your computer and Erica’s in uniform in her profile picture on Facebook, which by the way - very dangerous - so I just sent him one of Lydia instead.”

Derek stares.

“But hey, good news there, too - she’s totally willing to help us out here.” Stiles lifts his phone, revealing a text conversation with Lydia. Derek scans it - she actually seems excited.

“You set up an undercover meeting with someone who stole a painting worth nearly thirty million dollars with someone who has no tie to the FBI?”

“But she does have government ties, kind of, I mean - and she’s damn good at lying. So. It’s fine.”

Derek wants to strangle him. “Call her in now. We need to brief her. When is the meeting?”

Stiles looks pleased as he dials her number. “It’s all written down on a sticky note on your desk. I promise you won’t be disappointed.”  


 

Lydia shows up, looking more relaxed and dressed more casually than any of the other times Derek’s seen her. Skirts and suit jackets with tight buns have been traded for a short red sundress, strappy heels and her hair flowing down around her shoulders. Derek can admit she’s a beautiful person, it’s unsurprising that Stiles was in love with her for so long.  
  
Stiles comes down from Derek’s office and smiles. “I’m so glad you still had that dress, Lyds.”  
  
She twirls and rolls her eyes. “I had to dig through the guest room closet to find it. You’re lucky.”  
  
“Did you promise Brandon she’d be wearing a red dress?”  
  
“Not exactly - I promised Brandon she’d be wearing that red dress. It’s the one she had in the picture I sent.”  
  
“How old was the picture?” Erica  
  
“Uh - four-ish years?” Stiles says sheepishly. “I do see now how that could have been a mistake.”  
  
“What was your plan if she didn’t have it? I don’t think I own a single piece of clothing that I wore two years ago, let alone four.”  
  
“It was in a pile of things Scott promised to take to a donation center two years ago,” Lydia said. “And I’m sure Stiles didn’t have a plan. He rarely thinks that far ahead.” She winks at him.  
  
Stiles’ cheeks actually get slightly red. Derek likes it. He can never get Stiles to back down. He needs to take pointers from Lydia, as much as she terrifies him, too. “Shut up, I could’ve fixed it. I always do.”  
  
“Sure you do,” She says, kissing his cheek. “Alright, what’s my story here? Just a pretty girl playing poker or do I want something?”  
  
“You want to get me into the ring,” Stiles says quickly. “Talk up your poker partner, see if Brandon will get me into a meeting with the guy he owes money too. Offer money. We pay off his loans so we can get a meeting.”  
  
“What?” Derek asks, shaking his head. “No way. She can’t just march into a meeting with Brandon and act like she knows everything.”  
  
“Oh, I won’t,” Lydia says, confidently, almost dismissively. “He’ll tell me everything.”  
  
“What?” Derek repeats.  
  
“It’s a gift.” Lydia says, flipping her hair over her shoulder.  
  
Derek’s not sure why he blindly trusts that. 

  


 

Stiles won’t stop tapping on things in the van. He switches between tapping the table and tapping his leg, spinning around in the chair several times in between tapping. Derek’s focused on the computer screen in front of him - they were able to tap into the security cameras at the coffee shop Stiles picked, something Stiles swore he had in mind when he suggested it, despite it being out of his 5 mile range. Boyd and Erica were only a table over from where Lydia is sitting casually, texting - texting Stiles, Derek’s assumes, as the tings on his phone come in every few seconds.  
  
“Are you going to stop tapping and answer those?”  
  
Stiles looks confused for a second before looking at his phone and shaking his head. “Oh. No, she’s fine.”  
  
“What if she’s telling you she changed her mind and wants out?”  
  
“She’s probably texting the lyrics to Single Ladies or a Backstreet Boys song.”  
  
Derek narrows his eyes.  
  
Stiles motions at the phone. “Go ahead. See for yourself.”  
  
Derek’s curiosity gets the best of him because he picks up the phone and swipes to unlock it. He wishes he hadn’t.  
  
“What song?” Stiles asks, leaning back and tapping the table behind them instead.  
  
“I don’t know,” Derek says, even though he does.  
  
“Read it to me,” Stiles says. “She thinks she’s hilarious and will want me to comment on it later.”  
  
“Look for yourself.”  
  
“Why won’t you read it to me?” Stiles says. He sits up quickly, a grin growing. “Embarrassed?”  
  
Derek sighs. “Fergalicious, so delicious. But I ain’t promiscuous. And if you were suspicious, all that shit is fictitious.” Derek says, begrudgingly.  
  
“Oh my god,” Stiles says. “Please, keep going. I need more. This is too good.”  
  
Derek rolls his eyes.  
  
“If you finish the verse, I won’t tell anyone this happened.”  
  
Derek considers it. “I blow kisses. That puts the boys on rock, rock. And they be lining down the block just to watch what I got.”  
  
Stiles looks so smug. “Incredible, really.”  
  
“And no one ever hears of it again.”  
  
“You totally know what song that is. What a liar.”  
  
“And no one ever hears of it again,” Derek says again, willing the moment to be over.  
  
Stiles looks like he’s about to say something else, but he narrows his eyes and moves forward to look closer at the screen. “Heads up,” He says, nodding at the screen.  
  
Derek looks closer too. Lydia is still alone and it doesn’t look like anyone’s approaching. “What?”  
  
“Garden Sheers, right inside. He must have had someone else follow Brandon into the other room too.”  
  
Stiles is right. Through the glare in the window, he can just barely recognize the man who had just been busy threatening to cut off a man’s fingers. “I’m pulling Lydia.”  
  
“No!” Stiles says quickly, grabbing Derek’s hand on the walkie-talkie. “He’s not going to do anything here. Do you even see how many people are around? If he wouldn’t cut that guys hand off in a hedge maze where only his other cronies were, he’s not going to hurt Brandon in the middle of a crowded coffee shop. Lydia is fine.  
  
“Should we tell her?” Derek asks, looking back to the phone. The texts are still coming in every few seconds. She’s made it to the second hook already - I'm Fergalicious, so delicious. My body stay vicious, I be up in the gym just working on my fitness. He’s my witness, I put yo’ body on rock, rock.  
  
Stiles seems to have been looking at the phone too. He shakes his head. “And interrupt her roll? She’s about to get to Will.I.Am’s rap. That’s arguably the best part.”  
  
\- And he be lining down the block just to watch what I got (four, tres, two, uno).  
  
She puts music note emojis in the breaks of the verses and hooks. Derek locks the phone, hoping it will stop distracting him. Fergalicious is going to be stuck in his head for weeks now. 

  


Finally, Brandon shows up. He stops short of the table. “Lydia?”  
  
She looks up, quickly locking her phone and slipping it into her bag. Derek’s half tempted to see how far into Fergalicious she’d gotten, but decides to focus instead.  
  
She stands, extending a hand to him gracefully. “Brandon, hi.”  
  
“Wow, hi. You know, thank you for helping me make my hand - all I needed was a queen.”  
  
“Oh my god.” Stiles groans. “Poker pick up lines? This guy is a douche.”  
  
Derek laughs but sushes him, clicking the volume up as Lydia pretends to be flustered by the line.  
  
It gets boring fast. Brandon brags about poker, Lydia pretends to be impressed. She pulls her phone out and apologizes, taps on it for a few seconds, and then slips it back into her bag. “Canceling lunch with my mom,” She says, leaning forward. “This is more entertaining.”  
  
Stiles phone rings beside them. Derek reaches for it, worried she’s asking for help.  
  
“It’s just more Fergalicious,” Stiles says.  
  
Derek checks it anyway.  
  
“Was I right?” Stiles says, not even bothering to look.  
  
“T to the A, to the S T E Y - girl, you're tasty,” Derek says.  
  
It must have surprised Stiles, because he all but chokes on the laugh that escapes.  
  
In the time it takes Stiles to quiet down, Lydia has somehow launched Brandon into the truth about his poker playing. He’s talking about how he’s really good online and even better in casinos, but ever since joining up with a group of guys in a ring, he can’t seem to win a game. Stiles mutters that he’s an idiot for not putting the pieces together to see that the games are rigged.  
  
Lydia asks if he owes them money and Brandon shrugs some. “Just a few thousand. I can win it back at casino quickly.”  
  
She asks why he hasn’t done that yet, then. He tells her that he hasn’t found a casino nearby that will let him play - they all seem to know he owes Thomas money.  
  
“Thomas,” Stiles says. “Gary isn’t even his real name.”  
  
Derek sushes him again.  
  
“I could help you,” Lydia suggests, flipping her hair. “Play against him in your spot. Win your money back.”  
  
“Oh, no, I couldn’t let you. Thomas is kind of an asshole, you know? I don’t think he really lets girls play with him, anyway.”  
  
“What if it wasn’t me?” She says, leaning forward. Derek doesn’t miss Brandon taking a peak down Lydia’s cleavage.  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“I have a friend. Even better than I am at poker. He could do it.”  
  
“He would do that for you?”  
  
“He owes me.” She says. “I want to be with you, but not if you’re in debt to someone so scary.”  
  
“Yeah,” Brandon says, clearing his throat. “Yeah, yeah, uh, I’ll talk to Thomas about it. I’ll tell you when I do.”  
  
“Just give me Thomas’ information. I can pass it along,” Lydia says, reaching across the table to take Brandon’s hand.  
  
“Is this honestly working?” Derek mumbles. “I feel dumber just watching.”  
  
“Her beauty and fierceness blinds dudes,” Stiles supplies. “I was stuck for years.”  
  
Brandon is giving her excuses as to why he can’t just pass along Thomas’ full name or phone number or even a place he might be able to be found, when Thomas exits the coffee shop and goes directly to their table.  
  
Derek quickly picks up the mic. “This is Thomas,” He says. Lydia doesn’t even react to the voice in her ear, but both Boyd and Erica sit up straighter at the table beside them.  
  
Brandon is ghostly white as he looks up at Thomas.  
  
Thomas puts down some money, eyes on Brandon. “This one’s on me. Young love is great to see.”  
  
With that, he walks away, leaving Brandon all but shaking at the table, staring at the bill placed between he and Lydia.  
  
Lydia plays dumb, acting like it was a nice gesture, asking why Brandon looks so bothered by it.  
  
Derek’s leaning forward to look closely at the body language and focus on Brandon’s excuses for the man when a gust of warmer air hits him - Stiles has disappeared beside him and the back door of the van swings shut.  
  
Derek jumps up and then stops himself - he needs to keep an eye on Brandon and Lydia - but where the hell is Stiles going? He ditches the van, knowing Boyd and Erica are right there anyway.  
  
He stops short of yelling Stiles’ name when he finally spots Stiles - standing directly in front of Thomas, the two of them shaking hands.  
  
Shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think I'll finish 50,000 words in November, but I promise I won't give up on it at that point! I have a lot planned for it and will continue to work on it past this month. Thanks for bearing with me in these busy days!


	11. Glory

Not everything had gone to plan  
But we made the best of what we had, you know  
Passing the drink from hand to hand  
We admit we really know nothing at all

_____________________  


Derek paces at the corner angrily, contemplating jumping in right now and arresting Thomas for the threat they witnessed earlier - but even as much as he hates to admit it, spooking Thomas and his group with the Degas still missing will probably result in the painting being permanently missing and that does not look good on his record.  
  
Stiles jumping out of the van and going rogue probably also looks bad on his record, but at least he can try to hide that part of the story. He’s about to peek around the corner one last time, half hoping to see Stiles pushed up against a wall by Thomas, just so he gets punished somehow for his stupid move, but Stiles comes happily around the corner on his own, no bodily harm visible.  
  
“Got in,” Stiles says, before Derek can even begin to start yelling. Stiles continues walking past him, right back to the coffee shop. He gives Erica and Boyd a thumbs up as he walks inside, leaning against the counter. Derek’s about to yell after him when Thomas rounds the corner too, looking after Stiles - as if he’s seeing if Stiles had been telling the truth about who he was. Derek turns and walks back toward the van, hoping it didn’t seem like he was standing on a street corner for no reason - there really isn’t a ‘plus’ in tipping off Thomas.  
  
Lydia is still sitting with Brandon, who still looks shaken up, but Lydia seems bored. Boyd and Erica both look confused, only keeping eye contact with Derek long enough to see Thomas behind him before going back to having their own conversation.  
  
He speaks into the walkie talkie. “Lydia, date over. Boyd and Erica stay there until Thomas is gone. Keep an eye on Stiles.”  
  
Lydia begins to end her time with Brandon, who seems upset until she gives him a phone number and promises to meet again. She reminds him of the deal she was willing to make on his behalf. She walks straight toward the van and Derek wonders if she’s really dumb enough to get in, but instead she stands directly behind it and waves for a taxi. At least she is as smart as Stiles promised she was. Stiles’ phone tings next to him and he picks it up - it’s the 34th message from Lydia. She finished Fergalicious in it’s entirety. The most recent text simply reads “will be at the office.” As if she hadn’t just spent her entire fake date texting Stiles the lyrics to Fergalicious. Derek doesn’t think he’ll ever understand Stiles or his friends.  
  
His own phone vibrates next. It’s Erica, asking how long they need to hang around.  
  
His phone starts ringing - it’s a number he doesn’t recognized. He almost ignores it until he sees Stiles inside, leaning across the barista’s bar in order to make the cord on their phone reach long enough for him.  
  
Derek answers. “What on earth are you doing?”  
  
“Could you pick me up on 10th, mom?” Stiles says, ignoring Derek. “I forgot my card and can’t get a cab.”  
  
“Mom?”  
  
“See you in ten minutes, then!” Stiles hands the phone back to the barista and goes outside, sitting on a bench nearby.  
  
Derek sighs and moves up to the drivers seat as he texts Erica to get a taxi back to the office. Apparently they’re being watched.  


After driving around aimlessly for several minutes, Derek makes his way to 10th, where Stiles is sitting lazily on a bench, kicking at a rock at his feet. He jumps up when he sees the van, slipping into the passenger seat calmly.  
  
“Glad you understood me,” Stiles says, clicking and unclicking. “Thomas had someone in the shop still. Didn’t want to tip him off.”  
  
“Are we ignoring how you completely went off on your own, with no permission, from me, your handler?”  
  
“When we get praised for solving the case, we can even pretend it was your idea!” Stiles says, grinning.  
  
Derek’s not nearly as impressed. He hopes his glare expresses that.  
  
“Lydia did great, but Brandon wasn’t going to take the bait. I introduced myself, told Thomas I was given his name by a guy at a casino and have my first game with him tomorrow night. That’s sooner and more efficient than anything Lydia was going to get from Brandon, is it not? It’s better that way.”  
  
“And he believed that? That you just happened to run into him in downtown San Diego?”  
  
“No, but he believed the excuse I gave him for that. He’s a gullible guy.”  
  
“Or he has a good poker face.”  
  
“I don’t fall for poker faces,” Stiles says, shrugging. “He believed me and is excited about our meeting.”  
  
“Say you’re right - what’s your plan tomorrow, then?”  
  
“I play a damn good night of poker, impress them, get in on their dirty ring, we catch them in the act of laundering the money and rigging a game at the casino, then we get the painting back from Brandon once they’re all safely behind bars.”  
  
“How long will that take?”  
  
“Hopefully not long. I get bored of poker.”  
  
“Stiles.”  
  
“Derek.”  
  
It might work. Or it might not. Derek doesn’t really have a choice at this point.

Back at the office, Stiles greets Lydia with a hug. “Fergalicious, huh? Good one.”  
  
She just grins.  
  
“You really had enough free time on your date to finish the entire song?” Derek asks, raising an eyebrow.  
  
“And it didn’t even make it bearable. Brandon is dumber than a box of rocks. How does he not see that the whole thing has been rigged since the beginning?”  
  
“But that pickup line was really incredible,” Stiles says. “You have to give him that much.”  
  
“It was forced and awkward,” Lydia says, rolling her eyes. “Jackson is picking me up soon.” She turns to Derek. “Let me know if you need me again?”  
  
“I’d like to meet him,” Derek says, surprising himself.  
  
Lydia smiles and looks at Stiles. “Don’t think that’s necessary, really,” Stiles says, clearing his throat.  
  
“Why not?” Derek asks, raising an eyebrow.  
  
Stiles sighs, leaning back into his chair. “Fine, let’s all go meet Jackson.”  
  
Derek’s not sure if he’s concerned or excited. 

  


Back outside, Stiles has his hands stuffed into his pockets and is rocking back and forth. Derek doesn’t think he’s seen him this nervous since he met John.  
  
A San Diego police department patrol car pulls up. Stiles rolls his eyes.  
  
“Problem with San Diego’s finest?” Derek asks, narrowing his eyes.  
  
“Just a problem with that particular one.” Stiles says, giving Derek a thumbs up.  
  
Derek’s about to ask what he means until the officer that gets out smiles brightly at Lydia, and then it all makes sense.  
  
He kisses Lydia on the cheek before clapping Stiles on the back. “Missed you, buddy!”  
  
“Did you though?” Stiles says, rolling his eyes. He looks happy to see him, though.  
  
“No one else puts up quite a chase.”  
  
“I’m afraid you’ll never have someone like me again,” Stiles says. “Tis better to have loved and lost than never loved at all.”  
  
Jackson laughs. “You were never my type anyway.”  
  
Stiles winks.  
  
Derek’s confused. Did they all date each other at some point? Is Stiles gay? Jackson definitely doesn’t seem gay - not that police officers can’t be gay. Everyone can be gay. It doesn’t matter if Stiles is gay, anyway. Why would Derek care? He does care.  
  
“Before you break your brain trying to figure this out, Derek, no we weren’t ever actually together. Jackson was the arresting officer on my case!”  
  
Derek narrows his eyes. “What?”  
  
“In my defense, I didn’t know it was Stiles until I arrested him.”  
  
“Literally, his defense - they totally thought he was aiding me for a while there.”  
  
“Something that I fought beautifully in court.” Lydia says.  
  
Derek really doesn’t understand Stiles’ friends. He wants Stiles’ case file even more now.  
  
“Quick brief, once again, for Derek’s sake: Stiles, criminal. Jackson, cop. Jackson arrests me, surprises us all when they realize the criminal we’ve been discussing at dinner was me, Lydia had to defend him in court after people started accusing him of helping me get away. I got thrown in jail, Jackson did not. Caught up?”  
  
Not really. “Sure.”  
  
Stiles phone rings and he steps away, leaving Derek with Lydia and Jackson.  
  
“Confused still?” Jackson asks. “Wondering how we could all act like this isn’t a big deal?”  
  
“Yes, actually.” Derek says. “You’re a police officer and completely fine with a criminal being your wife’s best friend?”  
  
Jackson looks over at Stiles. He doesn’t seem surprised by Derek’s accusation. “Well, there’s always more to the story, isn’t there?” Lydia looks away and then excuses herself before getting into Jackson’s cruiser and closing the door. “Look, Agent Hale, watch out for him, okay? Whatever act he puts up for you is just that: an act. He got caught up in bad people and still hasn’t recovered. I’d just like to see Stiles come out alive.”  
  
Derek narrows his eyes. “Is he in danger?”  
  
“An ex-criminal now working for the FBI? I’d say that’s a pretty dangerous job. I’ll see you around.” It doesn’t seem complete. There’s more to this story and Derek wants to - needs to - know what it is.  
  
Jackson shakes his hand before getting in the cruiser and pulling away quickly, no goodbye for Stiles.  
  
Stiles comes back a minute later, seemingly not bothered that Jackson and Lydia left already. “Problem.” Stiles says, already walking back into the bureau.  
  
“What?” Derek asks, hurrying to catch up. “What problem? Who was that?”  
  
“One of my contacts. Brandon’s trying to fence the painting. They’re willing to take it from him and hand it over to me, but Brandon’s expecting money for the painting so he can pay Thomas back tonight.”  
  
“Where’s the problem?”  
  
“Brandon has no money by tonight, Thomas is going to take extreme measures. We have to arrest him tonight.”  
  
“How are we going to do that? We have no proof.”  
  
“He has a tournament tonight. I’ll be entering myself.” Derek narrows his eyes. “We’ll get our proof and save Brandon from sheer death.”  
  
“How do we know that Thomas will rig the game tonight?”  
  
“He always does. He can’t play actual poker worth shit.” Stiles rolls his shoulders. “Did you catch my garden sheer pun or not?”  
  
Derek rolls his eyes. “Fine. Where’s the painting?”  
  
Stiles shakes his head. “I will pick it up from a secure location. You will not be with me. My contact stays private.”  
  
Derek narrows his eyes again. “You want me to turn a blind eye to illegal activity?”  
  
“If you want to continue to have criminal help in cases in the future, yes, I want you to stay here while I go pick up the Degas.”  
  
Derek sighs. “Fine. Go get the painting and then we’ll discuss our next move.”  
  
“And you won’t follow me?”  
  
“No.” Derek says begrudgingly.  
  
“But I bet you’ll be staring at my dot on your tablet for the next hour!”  
  
“Getting the Degas back does not take an hour.” Derek says, raising his eyebrow. “You’ll be back in half an hour or I’ll come get you.”  
  
“Then say goodbye to the Degas, Derek,” Stiles says, crossing his arms. “Shit takes time. Please let me do my job and you can do yours.”  
  
Derek rolls his eyes. “Your job as a criminal?”  
  
“As you love to remind me, yes. That’s what I’m here for, right?”  
  
Derek sighs. “Fine. Text me with updates. Don’t leave your radius without telling me first.”  
  
Stiles gives him a thumbs up as he leaves the room, tapping the wall as he goes.  
  
Stiles is going to be the death of Derek, he swears.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for slow updates. I really hope to get back to daily now!  
> Love hearing your feedback and ideas, thank you! <3
> 
> As always, lyrics in the beginning are Bastille and the title of the chapter is the title of the song they're taken from!


	12. Two Evils

I'm the lesser of two evils  
Or am I, am I tricking myself nice?  
If I'm the lesser of two evils  
Who's this man, who's this act I hide behind?  
_____________________

Stiles is nervous. It’s been over four years since he met with a contact and he feels out of practice. He goes back to his hotel room to change, feeling awkward in the dark skinny jeans and red hoodie he slips on. It was his signature look, something he wore every other time he met with people, it’s what he got arrested in, even - it feels wrong. It’s a reminder of his past that he wishes he could have never lived, it’s a reminder that it’s not really in his past at all.  
  
When he exits the elevator into the lobby, he feels the receptionist’s eyes on him, too - the outfit probably stands in stark contrast even in her eyes, after seeing him leave in the morning and come back in the evening wearing dress pants and button-up shirts.  
  
He checks his phone as he exits the lobby, entering the address into the GPS app with shaking fingers. It’s outside his radius.  
  
He texts Derek to tell him as much. He gets a response quickly - “Why can’t you meet closer?” Because it’s not up to me, Stiles tells him. He gets a taxi but asks to be dropped off a few blocks down rather than telling the driver the actual address.  
  
Once the taxi starts moving, he shoves his hands into his pockets to try to avoid tapping on his knee. The tapping is starting to annoy him, like it always does when he’s anxious.  
  
There’s a folded up piece of paper in his pocket. He opens it carefully, confused.  
  
Written in scrawled handwriting is an address. He doesn’t remember it, doesn’t even recognize the address. He enters that into his phone now too, sees that it’s around the corner from the meeting place for the Degas and decides he’ll check it out before getting the painting from the fencer.  
  
He hands the taxi driver a twenty before getting out, waving off his change and zips his hoodie up higher before starting to walk toward the second address. He resists the urge to pull his hood on, wanting to make sure he’s aware of his surroundings. He’s completely aware that going to a random address found in his hoodie is not the smartest idea, but when else would he have the time to leave his radius and check it out? And looking it up on a computer would only alert Derek to it, which he’s not sure is a good idea, either.

Gerard’s sitting at table outside a cafe. Stiles checks the number against the brass numbers on the side of the building and then sits down next to Gerard with a sigh.  
  
“Glad you found my note.”  
  
“Should I even ask how it got there?”  
  
Gerard just grins. He’s always so proud of himself.  
  
“What do you want?” Stiles says, checking the time on his phone. “I have a meeting. For work.”  
  
Gerard narrows his eyes. “No need to be hostile, Stiles. We’re a team, after all.”  
  
Stiles stares back. He has nothing to say.  
  
“Not very talkative today?” Gerard says, sliding an envelope over.  
  
Stiles doesn’t move toward it. “What’s this?”  
  
“We have a deal, Stiles. Did you forget?”  
  
No. He never stopped thinking about it. “I have a radius. And a job to do today.”  
  
“Open the envelope. Get it done. Keep Derek in the dark.” Gerard lays a ten dollar bill on the table before standing up and leaving.  
  
Lovely.  
  
Stiles considers getting up and walking away, leaving the yellow manilla on the table for some other person to find. But he also knows what that will mean for him: right back to prison. It was a deal that was easier made while he sat in prison. Do a couple jobs here and there for Gerard while he works toward earning his freedom back and then move on. Now, with his little tastes of freedom, working alongside Gerard doesn’t seem so great. He doesn’t really have a choice anymore, though. He made his bed and now he has to lie in it.  
  
He picks it up and walks away, not wanting to be seen by everyone around him opening a mysterious manila envelope. It’s so stereotypical of a criminal it’s almost laughable. Gerard loves stereotypes.  
  
He picks a bench a block away. His phone vibrates in his pocket, it’s Derek, asking if he has the Degas. He tells him that he’s not meeting his contact for another fifteen minutes.  
  
Inside the envelope is a cell phone and an address. That’s it.  
  
He powers on the phone. There’s already a text waiting for him, the contact saved under G. Gerard, of course.  
  
**Now we have our own secure line. Keep this away from Derek. Drop the Degas off at the address in the envelope.**  
Stiles sighs. Of fucking course. He texts back.  
**What am I supposed to tell Derek about the Degas? Who’s going to save my ass on this one?**  
The response comes only a few seconds later.  
**You always impressed me with your creativity.**  
Stiles curses. He considers telling Gerard to fuck off. But it’s not really a choice, he reminds himself. None of this is. He gets a second text from Gerard.  
**We will pay Jack by tonight.**  
At least his contact will be paid and not everything is screwed here. He pockets the phone after saving the address into it and then discards the envelope and address into a trashcan before making his way to the Degas meeting place.   


His contact shows up only five minutes later, a few minutes earlier than their agreed meeting time. He has a cardboard tube slung over his shoulder. Stiles feels more nervous than he ever had before.  
  
Jack sits down next to him on the bench, not close enough to look like they’re friends to anyone else walking by.  
  
“Been awhile,” Jack says, leaning back.  
  
Stiles nods.  
  
“Glad you’re back.”  
  
Stiles wishes he could say he was glad, too, but right now he’s not. He’s angry and he’s anxious and he’s annoyed. “I’ll transfer payment later tonight.”  
  
“Not something I usually agree too.” Jack says, raising his eyebrows. He doesn't seem annoyed, just curious.  
  
“I know. Weird circumstances.” Shitty circumstances.  
  
Jack nods. “I’ve always trusted you.”  
  
Stiles nods too. He knows this already - he has an easily trustable face. Too kid-like for people to assume he’s tricking them.  
  
Jack slips the cardboard tube off his shoulder and stands, leaving the tube between them. Stiles takes it, but stays on the bench for a few more minutes before taking the phone out and entering the address.  
  
His other phone buzzes - Derek asking if he has it yet. He curses. Texts back a “working on it” and shoves that phone back into his pocket.  
  
The address Gerard left is only two blocks away. He moves quickly. There’s a guy waiting against the side of the building, who stands straighter when he sees Stiles. He just slips the tube off of Stiles’ shoulder as Stiles passes, neither of them acknowledging each other. Both of them are just pawns in Gerard’s game.

  


Gerard texts Stiles three minutes later.  
**Lovely work.**  
Stiles wants to crush the phone. He doesn’t.  
**What? Just going to take all the good stuff from our cases and leave me to explain this shit?**  
He waves down a taxi. Derek’s texting him still, but he’s too annoyed to check it. He doesn’t have an excuse.  
**No. Just what I need. Your case happened to intersect with something I was already working on.**  
Great. Now Gerard is involved in the poker ring somehow. Stiles loses hope of closing this case at all. He shoves Gerard’s phone into his pocket and slams the door of the taxi behind him.  
He takes his work phone out, ignoring texts from Derek in favor of texting Lydia instead.  
**Regret this.**  
She sends back a heart emoji. He didn’t expect much else, if he’s honest. There isn’t anything she can do for him, she already tried to tell him how this would end - she’s not really the type to say “I told you so” especially in situations like this. 

  


Derek’s waiting for him outside the hotel. Stiles curses as he hands over the money to the taxi driver, thanking him.  
  
“Where is it?” Derek asks immediately.  
  
Stiles shakes his head. “Don’t have it.”  
  
“You don’t have it. The three million dollar painting that you left to collect?”  
  
Stiles stopped and pressed the elevator button four times. “My contact sold it to someone else.”  
  
“What? To who?”  
  
“He wouldn’t tell me.” Stiles feels sick. Derek follows him into the elevator. He seems bothered by Stiles pressing the level 4 button multiple times. It makes Stiles feel smaller.  
  
“Genius. Just genius. Million dollar painting is gone. Great work here, Stiles!”  
  
“Oh, fuck off,” Stiles spits, surprising himself. “The painting would have been gone with or without me here. I can’t control everything.”  
  
“You told me you had this.”  
  
“I thought I did,” Stiles says, stopping at his door. Derek looks like he’ll follow Stiles in. “Can you let me change?”  
  
Derek stops and looks over Stiles, seemingly noticing his dress for the first time. “What are you wearing?”  
  
“Clothes.” Stiles slips into his room and shuts the door behind him, leaving Derek in the hallway. He throws Gerard’s phone onto the bed and tries not to panic. Everything is shit. Everything.  
  
Derek’s going to throw him straight back to prison and stealing a multi-million dollar painting will have been for nothing.  
  
Maybe it’s better that way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy thanksgiving, all! <3


	13. Two Evils (pt 2)

There are two ways to skin tonight  
Let's see whose road gets there faster  
This is a game, no wrongs, no right  
Only a winner and a loser  
You and I, oh you and I  
We're not that different, you and I  
Oh you and I, you and I  
We're not that different, you and I  
_____________  


The painting is gone. 

Derek’s not so sure. Something feels off. Stiles’ anger is understandable - a big part of the case is missing, millions of dollars are missing - but it seems to be more than that. 

He calls Erica as he gets on the elevator. “Watch Stiles. Keep an eye on his behavior. Something is up.” He hangs up before she can respond, too focused on finding the painting. 

He pulls up to the first location Stiles sat at. It’s a coffee shop, busy and crowded even at three in the afternoon. He hasn’t been in this area of town very often, it’s a smaller art-centric area, too “hip” for his taste. 

Inside, he flashes his badge and asks if they have security cameras. The scared barista shakes her head about eighteen times before looking around frantically and waving down a second employee. He seems calmer, even after Derek flashes his badge at him, too. “Security cameras?”

“No sir, is there a problem?” He stands closer to Derek, seeming to be shielding nearby customers from the possibility of a problem. 

“Just looking for someone. Did you see a young guy here - taller, skinny, wearing a red hoodie?”

The barista looks around. “Yeah, about an hour ago. Sat outside. I think he was alone. I can ask Brittany?”

Derek nods. It seems odd that he would just sit at a coffee shop alone, even if he was just waiting for his contact to get in the area - Derek had watched the GPS tracker religiously, mapping out his steps and how long he spent in each location. He spent just under 10 minutes here before moving down a block and sitting somewhere there for a few minutes, and then he moved a few more blocks for a short time. Then he got a taxi a few blocks away. The pattern is weird, as if he wasn’t just meeting one person, but actually met three.

“Brittany, that guy with the red sweatshirt that was outside. Was he with anyone?” The barista asks, drawing Derek’s attention back.

She nods. “Just for a short time. An older guy, I think. Is he dangerous?”

“No,” Derek says, sighing. “Just a liar.”

“Is it your boyfriend?” The male barista asks, raising an eyebrow. 

Derek narrows his eyes at the man, trying to figure out how he could come to that conclusion. Does he really expect an FBI agent to use his badge in order to attempt to get security camera footage of a cheating boyfriend? He shakes his head. “Do you remember much about the other guy?”

Brittany shakes her head, looking scared still. 

“Did they leave anything?”

“No, just a big tip.” She says. “Ten dollars on a two dollar tab.”

“Do you have the receipt?” Derek asks, hoping whoever it was was stupid enough to pay with a credit card.

“He left cash on the table. I could get the bill if you want.”

Derek shakes his head. It’s too hard to get DNA evidence from a paper bill. Hundreds of grimy hands have already touched it. 

Derek thanks them and stalks out, following the map he had to Stiles’ next location.

 

It’s just a bench. He looks around - the antique shop behind the bench is closed, but Derek still peeks inside. It doesn’t look like anything more than an antique shop, but he’ll definitely be back when it’s open to poke around inside and meet the employees. 

As he starts toward the final location, he spots a manilla envelope in the trashcan on the corner. It’s almost too stereotypical to check out, but he finds himself pulling it out carefully anyway. He pinches the corners to look inside, already knowing it will be empty. He peers back inside the trashcan, hoping there’s something else for him to find - there’s not. Crumpled paper and food waste. He keeps the envelope - he’ll have the lab check for fingerprints and hope that someone on his radar comes up. 

He continues on the walk, Stiles’ third and final stop is a second bench. There’s nothing here to help him figure out where the painting may have gone, not even anything left in the trash to find. He finishes the route Stiles took, not noticing anything out of the ordinary along the way. 

Back at the bureau, Derek goes directly to the lab, not even bothering to see if Stiles was back yet - the quicker he dropped off the envelope, the quicker he would get results back. 

Derek brings it directly to Carson. "I need this dusted for fingerprints. Come to me and me only as soon as any results come in."

Carson takes it carefully, nodding seriously. 

"If anyone else is in my office, leave a note. This is between you and I only," Derek presses, raising an eyebrow. He's pretty sure Carson understands, but he needs to be sure: if Stiles is going behind his back, he needs to have the upper hand and that means Stiles thinking he's safe. 

Erica and Stiles are in his office. Stiles is sitting on the couch, arms crossed and sulking. Erica looks frantic. "You didn't tell me the painting was missing, Derek." 

Derek nods and sits down. "What's the next step here, Stiles?" 

Stiles glares at him. "You're the boss." 

Yeah, right. Of course Stiles admits it now that he's failed. Derek can't even bask in it, not when three million dollars (or more) are so suddenly gone. "And you were the mastermind behind all this. It was a mistake to let you have so much pull, but now I want to see you dig yourself out of this."

Stiles doesn't answer, he doesn't even look up at Derek - just continues sulking. 

"Go over your trip with me. Where did you go, what happened?" 

"You know where I went," Stiles practically spits. "You watched me on the tablet and texted me constantly." 

Derek wants him to say it. Say that he met with someone at the coffee shop and then went two other places, too. He doesn't want to have to dig around a criminal's lies for the truth. He doesn't want to have a criminal consultant at all. "What happened?" Derek grinds out again. 

Stiles finally looks at him. "I went to the area of town he indicated over the phone and then waited until I heard from my contact on where to meet. We met, he explained he got a better offer and he left. I got a taxi back to my hotel room and there you were." 

"And you didn't try to get more information?" Erica asks, crossing her arms. Finally, Derek thinks, someone else is fed up with him too. 

Stiles glances at her. "Of course I did. I didn't just get up and think 'oh well! This won't screw my chances up at all, toodles!' I asked who and for how much. Even offered to double the offer. He wouldn't bite." His tone is bitter. 

Derek sighs. "Well I guess you should call Williams and tell him his painting is missing."

Stiles flips him off. Charming. 

Derek takes a deep breath. If Stiles wants to act like a child, fine. "Go down to your desk and make a statement. I want this all recorded." 

Stiles throws a sarcastic thumbs up as he leaves the room, punching his fist on the wall as he goes. Derek rolls his eyes at the door Stiles all but slams behind him. 

Erica looks overwhelmed. "What got into him? What happened out there?" 

"Nothing got into him, he's just showing his true colors. This was never going to work. Criminals working for the FBI? It's backwards." 

"And has been proven to work in several other bureaus throughout the country." Erica points out, sitting down. 

"Yeah, well, they didn't have Gerard Argent doing the picking." 

Erica seems to consider this. "Have you found out how much Stiles worked with her?" 

Derek feels his throat get tighter. He swallows. "No." 

"Why don't you ask him?" 

Derek almost laughs. "He's a criminal, one that can come up with a world class lie within seconds. Asking him does nothing to help me understand the situation." He waves a hand and leans back. "Besides, it's probably like all of Kate's partners in crime - she lured a young and dumb guy into her clutches." 

"I don't think Kate's his type," Erica says, shrugging. "There's more to it."

"Kate's everyone's type." Derek says, brushing her off.

"Uh, not if they're gay," Erica says, almost as a whisper. 

Derek narrows his eyes. "Stiles isn't gay." He pauses. "Is he?" 

Erica nods. "I'd bet on it." 

"People can be bi," Derek points out. "Exhibit A," he adds, motioning to himself. 

"And they can also just be gay. Exhibit B," Erica says, nodding back toward the floor where Stiles is. 

"He said he was in love with Lydia." Derek points out, even though he's not sure why it matters. It doesn't. 

"And I'm sure you had your sexual preferences figured out at thirteen too," Erica says, rolling her eyes. "Just admit it - your gaydar didn't pick this one up." 

Derek rolls his eyes. "I hate that term." 

She smiles. "That's why I use it. What's the plan here, boss?" 

Derek sighs. Before he can say anything, his office door opens. Carson stops dead for a second upon seeing Erica, before clearing his throat. "I can come back," he says, starting to turn. 

Derek shakes his head, deciding he'll need Erica's help, most likely. "Come in. Shut the door." 

Carson glances at Erica. "Yes, sir." He shuts the door behind him and looks nervous. 

"Anything?" Derek prompts, waving a hand. 

"Yes. There were four sets of fingerprints on the envelope. Only three of them had matches in our database, but I'm running the fourth through a wider criteria for you." 

Derek feels sick. "Go on." Erica is leaning forward, looking confused. 

"One, which I picked up from the sticky underside, even though it appears to have not been used, is a man named Alexi Ivanov. I printed a small overview of his file for you, here." Carson hands it over quickly, folding his hands in front of him as soon as Derek takes it. 

"And the other two?" Derek asks, glancing over the rap sheet. 

"Yours, of course. Because you handed it to me and you weren't wearing gloves," Carson says, as if it's obvious. "And your criminal consultant, Stilinski. Because I'm assuming he found it?" 

Derek feels sick. He wants to shout at Stiles and then drive him right back to prison. Instead he nods. "Thanks, Carson. Come to me if that fourth fingerprint gets matched. And while you're at it, run a few more tests on it for me - see if you can pick up any traces of anything else - what it may have contained? And keep this between us only still." 

Carson nods, heading toward the door. "Yes, sir. I will get back to you soon." 

"And only us," Derek repeats. "Not even Stilinski." 

Carson looks confused, but he quickly agrees before disappearing outside, the door shutting quickly behind him. 

Erica stares. "What was that?" 

Derek looks past her at Stiles. He's not writing anymore, just leaning dangerously far back in the office chair at his desk, staring at the ceiling. "I don't know." 

"Derek," Erica pushes, eyes wide. "What envelope? Why can't Stiles know about it if he found it?" 

Derek sighs. "He didn't find it. I did. In a garbage can near a bench that he spent four minutes at today." 

Erica stands up, eyes somehow wider. "What? What do you mean?" 

"Exactly that. I went to scope out where he met with his contact and lost the painting and found this sticking out of a trash can and took it on a whim. And apparently it has his fingerprints all over it." 

Erica looks out the window too. "Do you think he took the painting?" 

Derek doesn't want to think about it. But he needs too. "I don't know. He's lying about something." 

Erica sighs. "Who's that guy? Any connection to Stiles?" 

Derek shakes his head. "A few petty crimes. An attempt to cash a stolen check, a few shoplifting and breaking and entering charges. Never seen him before." He tosses it over to Erica, who reads it over too. She frowns at it. 

"What are you going to do?" She looks back out at Stiles. 

Derek sighs. "Nothing. Keep trying to find pieces. I can't bring this to anyone. You can't tell anyone. This stays between you and I until we know how big this is." 

Erica nods but she looks upset. "I kind of like him." She admits. 

Derek sighs. He had likable moments. "Send him back up here, will you?" 

 

Stiles stands in the doorway, lightly punching the doorframe and staring at Derek. "Is that what you're wearing for your poker game?" Derek asks without looking him in the eye. 

"I'm still going?" 

"We still need to get Thomas for his part of this, don't we?" Derek asks, raising his eyebrows. "Or did you want to just give up on everything?" 

Stiles doesn't take the bait. "No. I need to change." 

"Then go." Derek says, shooing him. "Get back here by four thirty. Eat before you come back. I'll be watching." 

Stiles mutters something about that always being the case as he leaves, tapping his fist along the wall as he goes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few of you mentioned that the format was hard to focus on and read - I hope this is a little better! I also went back through the last chapters and fixed the spacing. Once it's finished, I do plan on going back and fixing formatting errors as well as minor story continuation fixes, but for now, we're sticking with this :s  
> Thanks for sticking with me, everyone! Much love to you <3


	14. Snakes

If I'm not ready  
Snakes will consume me whole  
If I'm not steady  
Baby, they'll take control 

It’s not long after Stiles leaves the bureau that Carson calls him down to the lab. His heartbeat is hard in his chest as he makes the journey to the lab, ignoring small talk along the way simply by brushing past people with no eye contact. 

Carson looks nervous when he sees him, frowning at a computer monitor. He stands straighter when he sees Derek, waving him over and looking over his shoulder. “Got a match, sort of.” Carson says, motioning to the monitor. There’s a question mark over a blacked-out silhouette of a face and the other fields are blank. In small red letter at the bottom of the screen, a message is displayed. 

*Higher security level required to view this file*

There’s a blinking box just below that, asking for a security code to allow access. Derek’s never seen it before. He glances at Carson, who angles the keyboard toward Derek. Derek sighs. 

“I could send this up to your own monitor in your office, if you wanted.” Carson says, though he seems disappointed. Derek supposes he would be too, he’d want to see the outcome of a file like this, too. 

Derek nods. “Please do. And then remember our agreement on this.” He hurries back to his office, anxious and slightly irritated. 

He tries his password first. It gives him an error message. He searches through the binders they gave him when he first started as Agent in Charge two years ago, finding a section of access codes. There’s thirteen of them. None of them work. 

Shortly after he enters the last code his phone rings. “Agent in Charge Hale,” He answers, glaring at his monitor. Who else handled this envelope and why can’t he know?

“It’s Finstock. I’m getting an alert that you’re trying to access a file with a security level above you. Is this related to your case?”

Fuck. “Uh,” Derek considers lying.

It takes too long for him to decide. “No? Close out and give up. You really should be focusing on the case you started, Derek. You’re still under review.”

“Can I ask why I don’t have access to certain profiles?”

“It’s pretty clearly stated right there, Derek. Higher security level required.” 

Derek grinds his teeth.

“If you wanted to tell me why you need access to this one, I’d come on down and open it for you?”

Derek considers it. “No.”

“Right. Get back to work.” Finstock hangs up. 

Derek exits out of the file, cursing under his breath. He’s going to figure this out if it kills him.

 

An hour later, he’s waiting outside Stiles’ hotel. He’s going to drop him off and then meet Erica and Boyd in the van just outside the casino, where they have access to cameras and will be able to listen in on the game via a hidden mic on Stiles’ jacket. When Stiles finally leaves the building, he seems mostly put back together - he’s not walking sluggishly, his chin is held high. He gets into the Camaro without greeting Derek, clicking and unclicking his seatbelt as he always does. It irks Derek more than it usually does. The drive is silent other than steady beat Stiles is tapping onto the center console with his fingers. 

“Who did you meet at the coffee shop?” Derek asks when he pulls into the casino parking lot. 

Stiles doesn’t look at him. “What?”

“Don’t play stupid. Who did you meet?”

“I didn’t meet anyone. I sat down at a coffee shop until meeting my contact.”

“I talked to the baristas.” Derek says, pulling Stiles’ jacket toward him so he can clip the mic under the collar. It also forces Stiles to look at him. 

“You followed me?”

“No. I went back and retraced your steps, unable to believe how someone could fuck up so royally.”

Stiles jerks away as soon as Derek finishes with the mic. “Then I guess you already have your answer.”

“Who was it?” Derek asks, locking the doors as Stiles tries to get out.

“I thought you talked to the baristas,” Stiles hisses, opening his door after hitting the locks on his own.

“Just giving you a chance.” Derek says, annoyed. Stiles may think Derek knows who he met with, but he doesn’t. It makes it even more frustrating. He has the upper hand only if he can continue to threaten Stiles with the knowledge he doesn’t actually have - the second he slips up and Stiles figures out that he had no idea, Stiles is wining again. “Give me your ankle.”

“What?” Stiles barks, narrowing his eyes.

“I’m taking your anklet off just incase. Don’t scuff my seat.”

Stiles mutters something under his breath as he lifts his leg toward Derek, but he’s still careful to set it down nicely. He looks away as Derek unlocks it and slams the door shut behind him as soon as it’s off, stalking quickly toward the casino. Derek tries to relax and recharge before he joins Erica and Boyd in the van on the other side of the parking lot, not wanting to show his frustration to them, too. 

 

Something feels off from the second Stiles enters the casino. There's more security than there had been the night before when Boyd did a walk through and they all seem on high alert. That's not necessarily bad, but more people in the building means it's harder to keep a close eye on Stiles. They pat him down at the entrance to the poker hall, which Boyd quietly points out didn't happen yesterday. 

They all hold their breath as the guard's hands get closer to the mic, but it goes unnoticed, it seems. Derek's suddenly glad he thought to remove the anklet for the night. It could've all been over right there. 

Thomas greets Stiles with a squeeze to the shoulder. "I'm glad you could make it," he says, grinning. "I have a treat for you." 

Stiles steps away just slightly. "Yeah?" 

Thomas nods, leading him to a table with all but two seats filled already. "Let's make a deal." 

Stiles waves a hand forward. "Let's hear it?" 

"If you can beat everyone at this table, I'll let Brandon off the hook." It's then that a guard pulls Brandon from a back room. Erica gasps, leaning forward to get a better look. She whispers that he has a black eye and split lip. Derek sees it too. 

Stiles barely looks at Brandon. He fidgets with his jacket collar and shrugs. "Why do I care about him?" 

"Let's not pretend," Thomas responds. "I'm not stupid."

Erica glances at Derek. "Should we move in? He knows something is up."

"You'll have to be a little more clear," Stiles says, glancing over at Brandon, who's sitting at one of the chairs now. 

"I don't think it's coincidence that you showed up to introduce yourself right after Brandon had a little date with a girl who tried to convince him to have someone play for him." 

Stiles glances back at Brandon again. "Haven't met him before," he says, shrugging. 

"Either way, he came to me with a request and I'm granting it. You beat everyone at the table and you can both go." 

Stiles rolls his shoulders. "And if I don't win?" 

"Then you owe me instead." 

Stiles stares back at him, reading his face. 

Brandon speaks up, surprising all of them. "Don't, don't, you don't know what he's capable of!" A security guard shoves him and tells him to shut up. Derek understands now that the extra security is Thomas’, not directly from the casino. It makes things messier. 

Stiles rolls his shoulders again and extends a hand. "Deal." 

Erica sighs. "Is that what we had in mind? Stiles signing his soul away?" 

"It doesn't really matter," Derek says, watching carefully. "As soon as we have enough evidence we'll move in." 

The game is quiet for a long time. Several hands come and go without anyone saying a word. 

Stiles fidgets and taps throughout the entire game, increasingly making Derek more and more nervous. There's no proof of foul play other than the vague threat and bruises on Brandon. Thomas himself isn't even playing, just watching carefully.   
Before Stiles can respond, Thomas reaches with purpose toward him, plucking the mic off easily. Erica gasps as he drops it and crushes it, a smile on his face the entire time. 

Derek's heart is racing. He's torn between running in immediately and seeing what happens next. His decision is made for him when Thomas’ security guards drag Stiles’ chair back and start pulling him into a room. Brandon is shouting something. Stiles is fighting back, but it’s not doing much to stop them. 

Erica’s right on his heels, yelling that she knew something was wrong, yelling that they never should have let Stiles go in without backup close by. Derek knows this already.

Stiles isn’t in the poker room once he and Erica reach it, but Brandon is - he doesn’t get up from his chair at the table, just motions behind him. “They brought him back there.” He’s the only one left in the room and Derek starts to wonder why he didn’t move at all until they round the table and see that he’s been handcuffed to his chair. 

Erica swings the door open quickly and they’re immediately greeted by Thomas. He’s smiling, hands up in surrender. “Hello, Agent Hale.”

“Where’s Stiles?”

“He’s here,” Erica says, stepping around Thomas. Thomas shifts so Derek can see him, too - he’s slumped against the wall, hair messy and lip bleeding. He looks pissed. 

“You good?” Derek asks, barely looking at him as he cuffs Thomas.

Stiles doesn’t answer, just stands up slowly and starts fussing with his hair and wiping at the blood on his lip. “You good?” Erica repeats, looking him over.

“Fine.” Stiles says, pushing past them to leave the room. “I’ll be by the car.”

“Want to tell me why you’re arresting me, sir?” Thomas says, grinning. 

“Assault, for one.” Derek hisses. 

“You have no proof that I did that,” Thomas says happily. “Are you sure you want him to go off alone? Without his jewelry on?”

Derek glances back out the door, wondering if Stiles really is stupid enough to try to run - there’s FBI agents everywhere now, milling about and arresting security guards and taking statements. 

“And maybe teach him to not be so fidgety. He flashed the mic every few seconds.” Thomas adds nonchalantly. Derek growls. 

“I got him,” Erica says, nodding. “You go find Stiles.”

Derek sighs as he leaves, walking quickly back to the parking lot. Stiles, thankfully, is leaning against the Camaro, just like he said he would be. 

“What was that?” Derek hisses. “He saw the mic about six hundred times.”

“Fuck off,” Stiles hisses. “Don’t come at me five minutes before throwing me under cover. You threw me off.”

“I threw you off,” Derek repeats, laughing. “Because I called you out for your shady behavior?”

“Why can’t you just trust that I didn’t fuck it up? Why do you have to second-guess everything I do?”

“Trust? What have you done that has given me any reason to trust you? Absolutely nothing.”

“I just got punched in the face for you.” Stiles says, wiping at his lip again even though the bleeding has stopped. 

“You got punched in the face because you weren’t any good at being under cover,” Derek says, motioning for him to get in the car. “I’m taking you home.”

“He knew who I was the second I greeted him. He was one step ahead the whole time. The game was rigged all along.”

“And who’s brilliant idea was it to greet him on the street? Oh right - yours. I’m done letting you take the lead on my investigations. You don’t have anything to throw away - I do. Everything I am is resting on you and I’m done. You sit down and shut up from now on.”

“Fuck off,” Stiles says again, slamming the door shut. 

“I thought you were Psychic?” Derek reminds him, pulling out quickly. “Should’ve seen this all coming.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO sorry for the long wait. Life got super crazy and then my writing program crashed and I lost three chapters...lovely.   
> I promise I haven't abandoned you!


	15. Fake It

  
Oh my lover, my lover, my love  
We can never go back  
We can only do our best to recreate  
Don't turn over, turn over the page  
We should rip it straight out  
Then let's do our very best to fake it  


It’s been a week since Stiles had to give the painting to Gerard and he’s yet to hear from him since. He supposes he should be thankful for that, but considering the shit he’s having to deal with because of Gerard’s greedy hands, he’d at least like to have an explanation for the mess.  
After Thomas had smashed his mic and brought him into a side room, all he said was that he wasn’t willing to go to jail for another one of Gerard’s pawns before punching him once and then waiting at the door for Derek to arrive. He’d ignored Stiles’ questions about Gerard and how they knew each other completely and Gerard had ignored the frantic texts Stiles had sent him concerning the matter once Derek dropped him off.

Derek. Royal mess. He all but ignores Stiles existence now, not allowing him into briefs or team meetings and even solved a high-stakes case involving a missing statue without even once consulting Stiles. Stiles would be impressed if he wasn’t so irritated. Derek had the right to be angry, Stiles knew that - it didn’t make more enjoyable. Stiles had hoped that the two days of not seeing each other over the weekend after the incident with Thomas would give Derek ample time to cool off, but it hadn’t, apparently, and Stiles was still paying for it.

Derek hands him a case file as soon as he walks off the elevator. Stiles doesn’t even look at it. “Please, no more mortgage fraud cases.”

Derek glances back at him - Stiles thinks it’s the first time they’ve had an actual conversation since Thomas. “What’s wrong with mortgage fraud cases?”

“It’s staring at paperwork all day. It’s boring.” 

“You could be staring at prison bars.” Derek says, moving back toward his office again.

He wants to growl something brazen back, but instead he sighs. “You love to remind me.” 

Derek doesn’t answer.

“I was hired to be a consultant,” Stiles tries. “You’re pissed, I get it. I just don’t think Finstock will like this when he comes to do his final check on Friday.”

Derek stops. Stiles wonders if Derek forgot that this Friday marks the end of the four week trial period they had agreed on in the beginning. “I’ll call you if I need anything from you,” Derek says, dismissing Stiles at his office door. 

At least he tried.

 

He’s halfway through the first page of the newest mortgage fraud case Derek dumped on him when Erica walks by his desk, tapping on it to get his attention. “Conference room, now.” She says, nodding toward the room. Derek’s waiting there, looking unimpressed. There’s another man, one Stiles hasn’t met before waiting there too. It’s worrying. He doesn’t let the anxiety show as he makes his way put to the room, chin held high and jaw tight. 

Derek sighs as Stiles walks past him into the room, following behind closely. The other man follows, a laptop in hand. They shut the door behind them.

“Just the three of us?” Stiles asks, glancing between the two of them. 

“Stiles, this is Jered Nieves. Head of undercover agents.”

This sounds interesting, at least. “Am I going undercover?”

“Michael Turner is missing. He has not checked in for twelve hours.”

“Twelve hours? That’s it?” Stiles understands it’s probably a big deal, but come on - twelve hours? That’s a good nights sleep after a night of drinks.

“Turner was posing a drug trafficker looking to launder cash through this man,” Nieves says, angling the laptop toward Stiles. “Lao Chen, a well known money launderer who spends most of his time in China. Lao’s hard to catch and even harder to contact.” 

Derek crosses his arms. “According to the last message we got from Turner, Lao will be in the area for less than seventy-two hours before getting on a private jet and going back to the homeland.” 

“And you’re telling me this because…”

“Joshua Cruze,” Derek says, raising an eyebrow.

Stiles doesn’t react to the alias. “Who?”

“Don’t play.” Derek says, jaw tight. “We have a list of your alias’ and the talents you gave them.”

Stiles stares back, keeping his facial expression interested but giving away no truths.

“You created him to launder cash through a scam you ran with Corey Breeze in New York. If our records are correct, he liked to gamble.”

He did. “I think I have heard of him, yeah.” Stiles says, leaning back.

Derek looks even more annoyed. “Stiles.”

“Are you offering full immunity then?” Stiles says, shrugging slightly. 

Agent Nieves looks surprised. Derek doesn’t. “I don’t give a shit about what you did five years ago, Stiles. I have a missing agent and I’m asking you - despite my best judgement - to help me get him home.”

Stiles sits up again, waving a hand at the laptop. “What do you need me to do?” 

“I need you - Joshua Cruze - to make contact with Lao. You know how to play Pai Gow?”

Stiles finds it humorous, almost - a week after crashing a case revolving around poker and now Derek’s putting him undercover to play a Chinese version of poker played with dominoes. “Not my favorite.”

“It is now.” Nieves says, crossing his arms. “Lao uses the game to make contact. Certain hands or bets tell him different things. You need to fold a winning hand.”

“That’s assuming I can win a game of Pai Gow.” Stiles says, even though he can and has won. 

Derek’s not impressed. “You’re not taking this seriously. Do I need to find someone else?”

“The fact that I’m sitting here at all tells me you don’t have anyone else,” Stiles says. “If you thought you could teach Boyd how to play Pai Gow in six hours, you would.” 

Derek sighs. “Go see Erica. The anklet comes off for this, obviously. She’ll take it.” Derek waves a hand at the door, effectively dismissing Stiles. 

 

At Erica’s desk, she removes the anklet but then offers Stiles a watch box. “Derek’s unwilling to let you go in without a way to find you. This watch has GPS and a recording device so we’ll be able to hear your conversations throughout. If you’re ever scanned for listening devices, you need to switch the watch off. If it’s off for more than three minutes, Derek will come in to get you.”

“At least it’s a nice watch,” Stiles says, putting it on as she puts the anklet in a box, too. “I don’t want to look cheap.”

“High demands for the criminal,” Derek says, suddenly behind him. 

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Yes, yes, me criminal, you perfect. We get it.”

Derek looks unimpressed, as always.

“When do I go?”

“We just put out the word that Joshua Cruze in town. Now we wait.” Derek sighs. 

“Wait for…?”

“For them to take the bait. We don’t know where Lao will be playing. We just have to hope they’re interested in the portfolio you built up for Cruze.”

“What’s my angle?” Stiles says, leaning against the desk. “What do I do that needs money laundered?”

“You’re looking to invest. Come up with whatever story you want. Just make it hold up.” Derek pauses. “You can’t fuck this one up, Stiles. This has an agent on the line, here.”

Stiles tries not to be annoyed at the jab. He gives Derek a sarcastic thumbs up. “I’ll need to go shopping.” Stiles says, shrugging. “Cruze wouldn’t wear anything less than Armani.”

Derek raises an eyebrow. “Armani suits are thousands of dollars.”

“I owned three when I got arrested.” Stiles says, crossing his arms. 

“Wear one of those then,” Derek says, narrowing his eyes.

“Can’t. Bulked up in prison. I’d need them tailored.”

Derek clenches his jaw. “I’ll pay for one suit to be altered. One. Suit.”

Stiles grins, pushing up from the desk. “I’ll bring you the receipt!”

 

Stiles feels good in his suit. He’d forgotten what an expensive suit does for your self esteem and overall mood - they’re practically magic. Derek had just called to tell him that their bait worked, but they needed to go to Los Angeles and set up. 

“A two hour drive through California traffic together,” Stiles says, joining the team in the coffee area. “Sounds lovely.” He’d bet money that Derek will pawn him off to someone else for the drive. 

“You’re driving up with Erica and Boyd,” Derek says immediately. “I need silence.”

Boyd looks bothered, Erica doesn’t. “Knew it,” Stiles says, rolling his eyes. “Don’t worry, Boyd, I’m good for a nap.”

“You better keep that promise, Stilinski,” Boyd says, crossing his arms.

“We leave in forty minutes.” Derek announces, ending the small talk there. “Stiles, bring a change of clothes. We may need to stay the night in LA and I don’t want to hear any complaints about your stupid expensive suit.”

Stiles rolls his eyes, but heads back out to walk to the hotel to pack an overnight bag, just incase. 

 

Back in his hotel room, there’s a text blinking on the phone from Gerard.

It reads “Don’t mess this one up.”


	16. Grip

We don’t know what’s good for us  
Cause if we did, we might not do it  
Who knows where our limits lie?  
We won’t discover ‘til we push it

They park in Chinatown, outside a restaurant advertising a free drink for every customer. Boyd rolls down his window and sticks his head outside. “This the right place, boss?” He asks, scanning the street.  
Derek’s already out of the Camaro, slinging a duffel bag over his shoulder with a nod. “Yep, load out.”

Stiles helps carry a duffel bag too, following the line of agents into the restaurant. Derek shakes hands with the man behind the counter, greeting him warmly. It’s weird to see, Derek being friendly with someone that’s not Erica or Boyd. A waitress leads them up stairs at the back of the restaurant, showing them to a room in an apartment there. She slips her shoes off at the door and leads them inside. Derek follows suit with the shoes, as does everyone else. Stiles finds himself judging his coworkers by their sock choices - Boyd wears cheap socks that don’t match his suit, Erica wears tights with holes in the heels, something she’s obviously embarrassed by, Agent Turner has plaid socks with bright red toe and heel marks, something he’s not at all embarrassed by. Derek’s socks match Stiles, which surprises him. 

“The owner has been working with the bureau here as a confidential informant on some of Lao’s men next-door. He’s letting us use this room for the remainder of the operation. Be kind and careful with their things, this is another bureau’s relationship and I don’t want to be responsible for breaking it,” Derek informs them, unloading computer equipment from his bag. “Stiles, get ready. Your game starts soon.”

Stiles feels a wave of nerves wash over him for a minute before rolling his shoulders. Pai Gow actually came pretty easily to him, plus getting back on an actual case after the shit-show last week means good things for him. He can’t let nerves - or Gerard or Derek - mess this one up. He finds a bathroom to fix his hair and make sure he’s ready to go. When he exits, Erica offers him a plate of food, which Stiles can only assume came from downstairs. Boyd and Derek are eating while setting up monitors and recording devices and Erica has a plate off to the side. Agent Turner is staring at a plate in front of him, silent. Stiles does feel bad for him, losing an agent who’s undercover is probably his worst nightmare. One he hopes to remedy tonight.

 

Stiles fixes his tie once more before slipping his shoes back on at the door. Derek joins him. “Lao is dangerous. We will be listening in, but if anything goes wrong, you still have to account for the time it takes us to get to you. Think fast. Be smart.”

Stiles nods. “Got it.”

“I’m serious, Stiles. This one is dangerous. Don’t get cocky.”

“I got punched in the face last week, there’s no room to be cocky.”

Derek rolls his eyes and shuts the door between them.

Next door, Stiles enters a code Derek gave him earlier into a keypad on a door. It beeps twice before unlocking. The hallway is dark but halfway down, a man in an expensive suit stands in front of a door, so Stiles walks confidently to him. 

“Name.” The man says, not even looking at him.

“Joshua Cruze.” Stiles says, grinning. 

The man still doesn’t look at him, just twists slightly to open the door behind him before stepping out of the way to allow Stiles to enter, closing it quickly behind him. There’s another security guard, Stiles guesses, standing next to a metal detector. He holds his hand out and Stiles removes his watch and hands it over with his keys before stepping through the metal detector. Once through, a second man scans him with a handheld detector, probably checking for bugs. His is safely in the hands of the first guard, waiting for him. They both nod, the watch and keys are returned, and he’s in.

Immediately, he’s approached by a woman with a drink. She offers it to him before leading him to a table and pulling the chair out for him. “Yum seng,” She says, grinning at him. Stiles recognizes the toast quickly - drink and win. He lifts the drink toward her before taking the shot. The woman stays by the table, watching him play carefully. 

Stiles isn’t sure if he’s better at Pai Gow then even he remembered or they purposefully put him up a poor player so he had a better opportunity to make a move that would portray what he wanted to Lao. After two hands, Stiles is confident enough in his hand to fold. He does, raising his eyebrows at the dealer expectantly. “I’m out.” He says, leaning back. When the dealer reveals his hand, Stiles does the same.

“You could have won,” The woman says, looking expectantly at Stiles. 

“There are more important things in life than winning,” Stiles replies, scanning the room. 

She motions behind her without another word. The dealer gets up, leaving an empty chair at the table. He’s replaced by who Stiles can only assume is Lao - he looks skinnier now than he did in the pictures Agent Turner had.

“Folding on a winning hand, bold move.” Lao says, reaching a hand out. “Mister…?”

“You know who I am.” Stiles says confidently, shaking Lao’s hand firmly.

Lao grins slightly. “Maybe. A man with your reputation should have come seen me sooner. In fact, where have you been? The stories about you stopped abruptly.”

Stiles doesn’t flinch. “We all have to lay low at some point.” He says, leaning forward.

“What are you here for?” Lao asks, motioning for a refill for Stiles.

“I think that’s something better suited for a private room,” Stiles counters.

“That can be arranged,” Lao agrees, picking up the dominoes and rolling them between his hands with ease. “Perhaps we could play another hand first.”

Stiles nods. “I’m always up for another hand.” He lifts the shot to Lao, who mirrors him with his own. “Yum seng,” Stiles says.

Lao repeats the toast back to him before dealing. 

Two hands later, the man that had been in the hallway comes inside quickly, slamming the door behind him. “Cops!” He shouts, drawing a weapon.

A second man, one that had followed Lao to the table, pulls a gun too, pointing it directly at Stiles.

Stiles lifts his hands immediately. “They’re not with me,” He says calmly. Because they’re not. Fuck, this is going south fast. 

“I don’t believe in coincidence,” Lao says, standing.

“It’s time to start,” Stiles says, keeping his hands up and voice even. He doesn’t break eye contact. “They’re not with me.” 

“Get up, let’s go,” The woman says, standing. “Leave him, Lao. Let’s go.”

Lao’s men keep the gun trained on Stiles as they rush out a back exit, leaving him alone in the room as the LAPD burst through the front door. “Hands up. We will shoot,” One announces, lifting a gun at Stiles.

It doesn’t take long for him to weight his options - throw the operation and announce that he’s FBI or take a risk and finish the case strong. 

He’s never been one to take the easy way out. He steps back, hands still up, but then quickly throws the table up, thankful when the top breaks from the stand, making it an effective shield against the gunfire that starts immediately. He goes to the same door he watched Lao escape through, takes a right and ends up in a kitchen. He charges through, thankful that the police aren’t immediately behind him. 

Stiles ends up in the streets of Chinatown, bringing the watch to his mouth as he tries to get lost in the crow, “Get these damn cops of me, Derek,” He hisses, ducking behind a food cart when three LAPD come running his direction.

His feeling of satisfaction only lasts a minute because two of Lao’s men are coming towards him now and they both look equally pissed. There’s no good options here. 

When they’re only a few feet away, the woman appears again, holding a hand up to them. “Lao told me to handle this. Go back to the safe house, I got it.” She turns to look at Stiles.

Stiles’ ass is saved once again. He stares back at her, waiting for direction. 

“Lao knows why you folded your hand. He respects you and wants to work with you. Come with me and you can finish your meeting.” 

Stiles scans the crowd around him. Derek is a few people away, hand at his side. He looks frantic. “Can you promise that there will be no more guns?” Stiles asks, tightening his tie. “I had my fill for the week.”

She smiles slightly. “I promise you will be safe. Follow me.” She starts walking away. Stiles makes eye contact with Derek once more before turning to follow her. He thinks Derek mouthed “be careful” at him, but doubts himself almost immediately - the gesture is too nice, especially for Derek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll try my best to post but I'm afraid the next post might not be until after Christmas. Have a wonderful holiday!


	17. Grip (pt 2)

  
I should just walk away, walk away  
But it grips me, it grips me  
But I should call it a day  
And make my way  
Oh, it grips me  
Cause the devil’s got my arms  
And it pulls me back into the dark  
But I should just walk away  
Walk away, oh it grips me  
Cause the devil’s got my arms

They end up at a hotel just outside of Chinatown. The woman already has a room, it seems, as she leads Stiles straight to the elevator. The room is large, probably the hotel’s most expensive suite, but they’re the only ones inside.

“When will Lao arrive?” Stiles asks, glancing around the room.

“He won’t be. We’ll stay the night together here on his orders.” She says, leaning against the wall.

“And do what?” Stiles says. “Bed looks comfortable, at least.”

“I didn’t plan on sleeping.” She says, moving forward.

“I don’t even know your name,” Stiles points out, not backing away.

“Biyu.” She says, extending a hand. Stiles takes it. 

“Let me make you a drink,” She says, pulling Stiles toward the bar. Of course it’s fully stocked.

“I’m fine,” He says, starting to feel suspicious of the whole situation. 

“It’s not poisoned or drugged,” Biyu laughs. “Here, let’s get you a little more comfortable.” She slips the watch off his wrist easily, like she’d pickpocketed hundreds of people before - Stiles realizes she probably has. It’s a skill he wished he’d mastered.

“What are you doing?” 

Biyu smashes his watch under a glass. “Taking you off the clock.” She winks. 

“Hey!” Stiles yells, jumping closer. “That was an expensive watch!” He wonders how soon Derek will be here and if Biyu knew who he was. Was he in danger like Derek had warned him?

“An expensive fake,” Biyu amends, rolling her eyes. She pulls a gun from beneath the bar. “Joshua Cruze wouldn’t wear a fake watch. But Stanislav Stilinski would.”

Stiles feels himself get tense. “You know who I am?” He watches the gun carefully, raising both hands to show her that he’s harmless. 

“Of course I do. You’ve been on our watch list for years. Way before the FBI had any ideas about you.”

“And you are…” Stiles says, narrowing his eyes. “The gun really isn’t necessary.” 

“Interpol,” She says, matter of factly. She slides the gun back under the bar, but keeps her hand close. 

“So you know my name. I don’t know yours.”

“Biyu is my real name.” She tells him, though Stiles isn’t sure he believes her.

“What is interpol doing interfering with an FBI investigation?”

“It was the other way around.” She sips a drink. 

“So you’re the one that called the police.” Stiles decides.

She nods. “If you take Lao, we’ll never get his boss. We’re after the big picture.”

“You’re letting Lao walk.”

“No, you’re going to let him walk.”

Stiles shakes his head. “I can’t flip. I have a deal.”

“You let Lao walk and I’ll give you what you really want.”

Stiles narrows his eyes. “What?”

“I can tell you what he wants from you.” Biyu says, leaning back casually. “Argent.”

Stiles considers it. “Okay, I bite. Tell me.”

She shakes her head. “Not now. I’ll get in contact with you with further instructions.”

“So what, I just leave?” Stiles feels jumpy. He taps the bar instead of doing actual jumping jacks to burn the nervous energy. 

“In a few hours, yes. Lao’s guys will still be lingering around the area until around two am. You can leave then.”

“Where will you be?” Stiles presses, backing up as she reaches for the gun again.

“A different room. I have work to do.” 

Stiles watches her go. The clock on the wall tells him it’s eleven thirty - he has plenty of time to consider his options, at least. First, he pours himself a drink.

 

Stiles wakes up and decides to head back to the Chinese restaurant at five am. He knocks on the window of the black SUV right outside the hotel, surprising the agent inside. “I won’t tell Derek you fell asleep on the job if you give me a ride back to the restaurant.”

The agent just nods, sitting up quickly and starting the vehicle. For a minute, Stiles wonders if he should be offended that the agent tasked with keeping an eye on him for his safety fell asleep, but decides to let it go on account of how dangerous his night had actually been since getting to the hotel - he had a couple drinks from the mini-bar and then watched trashy reality television on a big screen TV until he fell asleep on a California King Sleep Number mattress. It wasn’t exactly worthy of staying awake for. He decides the agent doesn’t need to know that, though. 

When he enters the room upstairs, he overhears Erica and Derek talking. He decides to linger in the doorway.

“He’s unreliable. He doesn’t listen. He somehow always gets himself - or me - in trouble.” Derek's complaining about him. It's nothing new. 

“He’s talented. He solves cases well.” Stiles preens at Erica’s compliment. 

“With too much drama. There was never this much drama before he showed up. And the whole ‘psychic’ thing - what is that? It’s going to get him hurt someday.”

“Aw, you care about him!” Erica teases. 

“I do not.” Derek cuts back. “He’s a hassle. I’m responsible for him, though - and if something happens, it creates a bigger hassle. That’s all. He’s basically just walking paperwork.”

“Walking, talking, talented paperwork that risked his life to continue this operation.” Erica reminds him.

Derek’s quiet for a minute. Stiles decides to make his way toward the room. “Yeah, there was that. That was good.”

“Nice to hear that I’m appreciated,” Stiles says, leaning against the doorway. 

Erica grins, Derek stiffens. “I knew you were here.”

“Yeah, sure,” Stiles says, moving deeper into the room. He glances at their monitors but doesn't see anything interesting. 

“How did you get here?” Derek questions, tightening his tie, as if Stiles being back means it’s all business, no relaxation - despite the fact that it’s five am. 

“Had one of the guy's you had staked at the hotel drive me over.”

“They were supposed to call me.” Derek says, checking his phone.

“Told him not too. What difference does it make? I’m here now.”

“Where’s your watch?” Derek asks, raising an eyebrow.

Stiles pulls his jacket sleeve up, revealing the watch on his wrist. He unhooks it and hands it over. “I think I hit it against something when I was running from the police.” Stiles says. “The police that were shooting at me.” He reminds, when Derek looks unimpressed. 

Derek takes it, inspecting it carefully.

“When did you lose me?” Stiles asks, suddenly afraid that Biyu's glass-smashing wasn't enough to damage the recording capabilities. 

“In the hotel room.” Derek says. “Things seemed to be getting interesting.”

“Yeah, guess you did miss all the good stuff then.” Stiles winks.

Derek narrows his eyes. “Can she make the meet with Lao happen or not?”

“Yes. She said she’d contact me with a time and place.”

Boyd enters the room, carrying trays of coffee and a bag of bagels. Stiles makes grabby hands for a cup of coffee. 

“Just got a message from my contact at LAPD.” Erica says, leaning closer to her monitor. Stiles straightens up. “They traced the tip off back to a cell phone. It’s registered to a Biyu Wan.”

Derek raises his eyebrows. Stiles fakes surprise. “The same Biyu that Stiles had a sleep over with last night?”

“Are they sure?”

She twists the computer to show Stiles, Boyd and Derek her screen. There’s a photo of Biyu walking on a sidewalk, on the phone. “This is from a traffic cam at the exact time the call was placed. Three blocks from the game location.”

“Were they able to get us anything else?” Boyd asks, crossing his arms. Derek’s watching Stiles carefully.

“The mobile company lists a restaurant on Canal Street as her place of employment. It’s a few miles from here.” Erica answers.

“I want to check it out,” Derek says, standing. “Why would Biyu want to call the cops on the Lao’s game, especially if she plans to keep her deal with Stiles?”

Stiles mocks ignorance, shrugging slightly.

“Do you have a problem with that, Stiles?”

“No,” Stiles says, raising his eyebrows. “But me showing up there might blow my cover.”

Derek sighs. “Did you get any sleep last night? Get some rest. We’ll be back soon to pack up and head back to the bureau. Be ready.” With that, they’re out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay! The holiday's were a little crazy for me. I should be back to a more normal posting schedule now. The next chapter will back up a little and show you Derek's view of the events.   
> Hope you're still enjoying this!


	18. Icarus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for double notifications! Something went very wrong with formatting and I wasn't able to easily fix it without deleting.

 

Icarus is flying too close to the sun  
And Icarus's life, it has only just begun  
And this is how it feels to take a fall  
Icarus is flying towards an early grave

Derek watches as Stiles adjusts his tie at the door before slipping back into his shoes. He walks to his side and sighs. “Lao is dangerous. We will be listening in, but if anything goes wrong, you still have to account for the time it takes us to get to you. Think fast. Be smart.” He hopes Stiles is paying attention.

Stiles just nods. “Got it.”

“I’m serious, Stiles. This one is dangerous. Don’t get cocky.”

“I got punched in the face last week, there’s no room to be cocky.”

Derek rolls his eyes. At this point, if Stiles gets hurt, it’s his own fault, right? He’s been sufficiently warned. Derek shuts the door between them, unsure of what else to say.

Derek joins Boyd and Erica at the table in the living room. It’s all a waiting (and listening) game from here.

“Nervous?” Erica asks, offering Derek a coffee.

Derek takes it and waits, staring forward at the monitors in front of him. Boyd has a map open, the tracking from Stiles’ watch transmitting steadily, Erica is tasked with keeping a log of the events. Derek has security cameras on his, thankful that they were able to get access to a few outside of the meeting place.

It seems like it takes ages for Stiles to arrive at the building. He even glances up at the security camera there before entering a code into the keypad on the door and disappearing inside. He looks confident, at least.

“Name?” Someone’s voice comes through.

“Joshua Cruze,” Stiles responds. He sounds like he’s grinning.

Derek takes a sip of coffee. Erica is typing quickly. Boyd is tapping his foot against the floor repeatedly – it’s like being in the car with Stiles, Derek thinks.

It’s quiet for a long time, but the transmitter is working perfectly. Only the sounds of shuffling can be heard. Derek wonders what’s going on inside.

“Yum seng,” A woman’s voice comes through.

“Drink and win,” Erica tells them. “Traditionally a Singaporean toast.”

Derek nods. That’s a good sign, at least.

 

For a long time, only the sound of tiles moving and quiet talking is heard. Stiles hasn’t said much at all, which is shocking for Derek but probably good for his cover.

Finally, Stiles speaks. “I’m out,” He says, sounding almost bored.

“You could have won,” the same woman’s voice says. She sounds impressed.

“There are more important things in life than winning,” Stiles replies. There’s more shuffling and the sound of chairs moving. Derek stands, too nervous to sit and stare at blank screens.

“Folding on a winning hand, bold move.” A voice comes.

“That’s Lao,” Agent Nieves says, leaning against the doorway. He’s been trying to get in contact with the missing agent all morning – with apparently no luck.

“You know who I am.” Stiles says confidently. Derek rolls his eyes. His voice is different as Joshua Cruze – it makes Derek wonder just how many alias’ Stiles has.

“Maybe. A man with your reputation should have come seen me sooner. In fact, where have you been? The stories about you stopped abruptly.” Lao challenges.

Derek stops pacing, worried that this was already the end of this operation. Stiles doesn’t pause. “We all have to lay low at some point.”

“What are you here for?” Lao asks.

“I think that’s something better suited for a private room,” Stiles counters.

“That can be arranged,” Lao agrees, thankfully. “Perhaps we could play another hand first.”

“Don’t push him,” Derek begs. “Stiles…”

“I’m always up for another hand.” Stiles says, and Derek exhales. “Yum seng,” Stiles adds.

“Problem,” Boyd says, snapping his fingers at Derek to bring his attention back to the monitors. “Someone called in the game – LAPD is about to crash in.”

“Who the hell called in a tip?” Derek asks, moving to look at his monitor. There’s no sign of them on the security camera, but that doesn’t mean anything. “Get me Agent Alder with LAPD on the phone right now,” He says, cursing. “This could get Stiles killed.”

Boyd is working quickly to comply with Derek’s request, but they don’t have enough time. Derek’s on hold at the same time he sees officers in full riot gear moving toward the building form the security cameras.

It doesn’t take long for the men inside to notice.

They can only stand and listen to the chaos. Someone is shouting that cops are coming. It gets loud.

Derek paces, hoping this will end without incident.

“They’re not with me,” He hears Stiles say, surprised by how calm he sounds.

“I don’t believe in coincidence,” Lao says, angry.

“It’s time to start,” Stiles says, keeping his voice even. “They’re not with me.”

“Get up, let’s go,” The woman says. “Leave him, Lao. Let’s go.”

There’s no response from Stiles.

“LAPD making their way inside as we speak,” Boyd tells him.

“Hands up. We will shoot,” Someone says, as if on cue.

“Give it up, Stiles,” Derek says. “Tell them you’re FBI. Don’t be an idiot.”

There’s gunfire. “Shots fired,” Boyd says, relaying the radio transmission in his earpiece. “White male, 6 foot, nice suit, running on foot.”

“That better not be him,” Derek says, searching the security cameras. “It could be someone else.”

Not long after, Stiles’ voice comes through the watch transmission, out of breath and annoyed. “Get these damn cops of me, Derek,” He hisses. Derek curses.

He grabs his gun and heads toward the door, determined to find Stiles before the LAPD does. “Keep me updated on his location,” He shouts to Boyd as he pulls on his shoes. “If you don’t hear from me in five minutes, get me backup and get the LAPD to stay the hell away from Stiles!” He slams the door behind him before he gets a response.

Derek finds him easily. There’s a woman standing with him, seeming calm – but Stiles looks stressed. His once perfect hair is now a mess, his suit disheveled from running. He spots Derek. Derek keeps a hand on his weapon, aware that he probably looks insane here – nervous and worried and out of place in the middle of the street.

“Can you promise that there will be no more guns?” Stiles asks the woman, tightening his tie. He tears his eyes away from Derek to look at her instead. “I had my fill for the week.”

Derek can see her smile. “I promise you will be safe. Follow me.” She starts walking away. Stiles makes eye contact with Derek once more before turning to follow her.

Derek begs him to be careful as he loses sight of them again.

He calls Boyd to tell him that he’s coming back – without Stiles. “Keep an eye on his watch. I don’t want to lose him.”

 

When he gets back, Boyd already has his monitor turned enough for Derek to see where Stiles is.

“Looks like they’re staying in the hotel,” Erica says. "From what we can hear."

“Stiles doesn't leave the hotel then neither do we. Boyd, I want two of our guys positioned on the front and rear of the place. Once that's done, find out what the hell happened back there. Get the LAPD call log for me. I'm not buying this coincidence at all.”

“Do we know who this woman is?” Erica asks, turning to look at Agent Nieves.

He shakes his head. “I don’t have photos of her from my agent. It could be any number of Lao’s accomplices.”

“Get a photo from a traffic cam, see if we can cross-check it with our system. We need to know who he’s with,” Derek demands, still pacing.

“When will Lao arrive?” Stiles’ voice comes through the monitor, seemingly calm.

“He won’t be. We’ll stay the night together here on his orders.” The woman answers.

“And do what?” Stiles asks. “Bed looks comfortable, at least.”

“I didn’t plan on sleeping.” She says. Erica whistles. Derek smacks her arm. He’s not amused.

“I don’t even know your name,” Stiles tells her. He doesn’t sound interested either.

“Biyu.” She says. Derek tells Boyd to run that against Nieves’ records. “Let me make you a drink,” She says.

“I’m fine,” Stiles answers. He sounds nervous.

“It’s not poisoned or drugged,” Biyu laughs. “Here, let’s get you a little more comfortable.”

“What are you doing?” Stiles asks. And then there’s nothing. The watch stops transmitting entirely – there’s not GPS signal and no noise coming through to them.

“Do we go in?” Boyd asks, glancing up at Derek. Derek sighs.

“No. He worked this hard to keep the mission alive, we should do the same. We know he’s inside. Keep our men there and alert until we know what’s going on. Nobody gets in or out of that hotel without them knowing.”

“Didn’t sound like they were going to be leaving,” Erica says. “She had other plans.”

“This only happens in movies,” Boyd says. “No hot criminal has ever propositioned me like that.”

“Shut up,” Erica says, laughing. “I’ll pretend later.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “Can we focus? We have Stiles locked in a hotel room with a criminal we know nothing about. Let’s fix that.”

 

They don’t find out much, much to Derek’s frustration. He gives up around 2am and falls asleep, sure that someone will wake him if he’s needed or if they find something. Erica’s been asleep for two hours, but Boyd says he’s had enough coffee to be up all night if it’s needed.

Derek wakes up on his own a few hours later, his neck sore from sleeping on a couch. Boyd is gone, but Erica is awake now.

“Anything?” Derek asks, stretching.

Erica shakes her head. “No, nothing. But that also means Stiles is probably still alive. She didn’t leave the hotel.”

“Or she’s still cutting his body up to easily sneak it out,” Derek offers.

Erica rolls her eyes. “I think he’s smarter than that. He could probably fend her off.”

“I don’t know about that,” Derek says, sighing. “He’s unreliable. He doesn’t listen. He somehow always gets himself - or me - in trouble.”

“He’s talented. He solves cases well.” Erica points out. She’s not wrong.

“With too much drama. There was never this much drama before he showed up. And the whole ‘psychic’ thing - what is that? It’s going to get him hurt someday.” Derek says, refusing to admit that she’s right, but knowing she knows he agrees.

“Aw, you care about him!” Erica teases.

“I do not.” Derek cuts back. “He’s a hassle. I’m responsible for him, though - and if something happens, it creates a bigger hassle. That’s all. He’s basically just walking paperwork.”

“Walking, talking, talented paperwork that risked his life to continue this operation.” Erica reminds him with a wink.

Derek knows that’s true. It’s probably rare for a criminal informant to be willing to go that far. “Yeah, there was that. That was good.”

“Nice to hear that I’m appreciated,” Stiles says, suddenly in the room, leaning against the doorway casually.

Erica grins, Derek stiffens. “I knew you were here.” He says, even though he hadn’t known.

“Yeah, sure,” Stiles says, moving deeper into the room. He looks over the monitors but doesn’t seem interested by anything there.

“How did you get here?” Derek questions, realizing he hadn’t tightened his tie again once waking up – he does it now.

“Had one of the guy's you had staked at the hotel drive me over.” Stiles tells him, stretching.

“They were supposed to call me.” Derek says, checking his phone. Nothing. He looks at Erica, who shakes her head too.

“Told him not too. What difference does it make? I’m here now.” Stiles says, grinning.

“Where’s your watch?” Derek asks, wanting to get to the point. Stiles pulls his jacket sleeve up, revealing the watch on his wrist. He unhooks it and hands it over. “I think I hit it against something when I was running from the police.” Stiles says. “The police that were shooting at me.” He adds, as if Derek needed it.

Derek takes it, inspecting it carefully. “When did you lose me?” Stiles asks, seeming concerned. “In the hotel room.” Derek says. “Things seemed to be getting interesting.”

“Yeah, guess you did miss all the good stuff then.” Stiles winks. Derek narrows his eyes.

“Can she make the meet with Lao happen or not?”

“Yes. She said she’d contact me with a time and place.”

Boyd enters the room, carrying trays of coffee and a bag of bagels. Stiles makes grabby hands for a cup of coffee. Derek waits patiently for one.

“Just got a message from my contact at LAPD.” Erica says, leaning closer to her monitor. Stiles straightens up. Derek looks to the monitors, hoping it’s something good. “They traced the tip off back to a cell phone. It’s registered to a Biyu Wan.”

Derek raises his eyebrows. Stiles seems surprised. “The same Biyu that Stiles had a sleep over with last night?” Derek asks, just to be sure.

“Are they sure?” Stiles asks, echoing Derek's surprised.

She twists the computer to show them her screen. There’s a photo of Biyu walking on a sidewalk, on the phone. “This is from a traffic cam at the exact time the call was placed. Three blocks from the game location.”

“Were they able to get us anything else?” Boyd asks, crossing his arms. Derek turns to watch Stiles instead. He seems surprised but interested. Something is off, though, Derek can feel it.

“The mobile company lists a restaurant on Canal Street as her place of employment. It’s a few miles from here.” Erica answers.

“I want to check it out,” Derek says, pulling his suit jacket back on. “Why would Biyu want to call the cops on the Lao’s game, especially if she plans to keep her deal with Stiles?”

Stiles shrugs.

“Do you have a problem with that, Stiles?” Derek challenges, wondering why he’s suddenly quiet.

“No,” Stiles says, raising his eyebrows. “But me showing up there might blow my cover.” He has a point.

Derek sighs. “Did you get any sleep last night? Get some rest. We’ll be back soon to pack up and head back to the bureau. Be ready.” Boyd, Erica and himself leave. He tells an agent outside to keep an eye on Stiles, still feeling like something isn’t right.

 

The restaurant is closed, but there are three women outside, all wearing nametags that have the restaurant's logo on them. Derek approaches them. "I'm looking for Biyu," He says. "Can you help me?"

The three women glance at one another before shaking their head. One responds in Chinese, Derek thinks. Before he can ask again, the three of them begin arguing. Derek can't understand a word they're saying.

"English," He says, speaking over them. "Do any of you speak English?" They stop arguing and glare at him instead. He sighs. He pulls his card out of his pocket and hands it to one of them. "If you see Biyu, call me."

Erica and Boyd are waiting in the car. Boyd looks mischevious. Before he can comment, Derek tells him to make sure an interpreter is at the bureau when they get back.

When they swing by apartment to get Stiles, he's already waiting outside. Derek gets out of the van and into his Camaro instead and tries not to show his disappointment when Stiles slides in next to him. He clicks and unclicks his seatbelt like he always does, the nose grating in Derek's ears.

"That was quick," Stiles says, raising his eyebrows. "No luck?"

"Not unless you speak Chinese," Derek sighs. "What happened over night?"

Stiles glances at him. "I told you."

"No, you told me your watch got broken during the chase and that Biyu was going to contact you about another meeting with Lao. That makes up for maybe five minutes of the night - you were gone much longer."

"Well, if you really want, I can go in more detail," Stiles starts, leaning back.

"Did you honestly sleep with a criminal in an FBI investigation?" Derek asks, unimpressed.

"What do you think?" Stiles asks, tapping the center console.

Derek just rolls his eyes - he doesn't know what he thinks.

Stiles falls asleep on the drive back, which Derek is thankful for - some quiet to think is good, but Stiles is still under his supervision - no chances for anything to go wrong here.

 

The translator back at the bureau gives Derek a vague description as she listens to the recording Derek had taken while speaking with the women, promising to try to differentiate voices and give him something in written form within the hour - but Derek doesn't need it - what she's said is enough.

In his office, Stiles sits bored in a chair, playing with the crushed watch absentmindedly. "The translator said they mentioned something about Red Lantern and Biyu working the night shift."

"Red Lantern..." Boyd says, digging through the files from Nieves. "Sounds familiar. Maybe a restaurant or club?"

"Or a sunburnt superhero," Stiles offers, seeming bored. "Is this really worth it? Chasing after Biyu won't get us any closer to the missing agent."

Derek narrows his eyes. "It's the best chance we have, unless you know something about Biyu the rest of us don't?"

Stiles glances up at him and then looks away, waving a hand as if to say "go on".

"Here it is," Boyd says, pulling a file. "Red Lantern Exports. Agent Turner suspected it was a shell company ran by Lao. It's what he was looking into when he went missing."

Derek looks at Stiles, who seems unnaturally calm. "Still wasting our time, Stiles?"

Stiles rolls his eyes. "You're the boss."

Derek doesn't need to be reminded. Erica appears in the door, looking nervous. "Can we talk privately?" She asks, glancing at the back of Stiles' head.

Derek nods, "Boyd, get that address for me. I want to go check it out."

"If Boyd's getting kicked out, guess I am too?" Stiles asks, standing.

Derek doesn't answer, just holds his hand out for the destroyed watch. "Get your anklet put back on, will you?"

 

Erica waits until the doors shut to even sit down. "The facial scan on the traffic cam came back."

"And?"

"Nothing. Because it came up Restricted."

Derek raises his eyebrows. "So she's either a CI or working for another agency - did you run it through interagency database?"

Erica nods, handing a file over. "She's interpol."

Derek sighs, looking over the file. "Interpol."

"Do you think Stiles knows?" Erica asks, turning to look out the window.

"He spent an entire night in a hotel room with her. He knows."

"Maybe he kept his cover the whole night. Maybe she did too."

"He suggested backing off her trail just five minutes ago. He knows. He's playing us all."

"Why would he do that?" Erica asks, frowning.

"Risk his life to keep the investigation going but not share vital information like this?"

"He's getting something out of it. He has to be."

"What would Interpol have that he wants?" Erica asks.

Derek can tell she desperately wants Stiles to be innocent here. Derek sighs. He has no idea. But he suspects it's probably not far from connection to the missing painting. "This stays between us. I want to see how this plays out."

"Is that safe?"

Derek doesn't know. "If he continues to think he has the upperhand, yes. We don't want to corner him."

"He's not dangerous," Erica says. "Is he? He has no history of violence."

Derek isn't sure. He isn't sure what to believe anymore - he just knows it can't be Stiles. Once a criminal, always a criminal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience - have a longer chapter to make up for it :)


	19. Dreams

Now there you go again  
You say you want your freedom  
Well who am I to keep you down  
It's only right that you should play it the way you feel it  
But listen carefully to the sound  
Of your loneliness  
____________________

Derek can’t bring himself to keep a conversation going on the drive over to the warehouse that Red Lantern Exports is located in, too stressed about the new information to pretend right now. Stiles doesn’t seem to notice, tapping along with a song on the radio, eyes on the road in front of them. Stiles had gotten a text from Biyu with a meeting place for the next day.

They find the door labeled correctly and Derek tries it, unsurprised that it’s locked. “Can you pick it?” Derek asks.

Stiles raises an eyebrow. “No warrant, Agent Hale?”

“Like you’ve ever cared before. Erica’s working on one for me right now. “

Stiles winks and starts his work, slim fingers moving quickly with a small tool he pulled from his pocket. It’s almost distracting, how fluid and easy Stiles makes it look. Derek shakes his head, trying to clear his head, just as Stiles pushes the door open slowly. 

Immediately, Stiles puts a finger to his head. “There was a fight here, I think the Agent was here.” 

Derek narrows his eyes. “Stiles, please.”

“This way,” Stiles says, moving quickly across the warehouse. “He’s definitely here.” 

Stiles leads them to a stop at a large freezer. There’s blood smeared on it. Derek feels sick. He uses the edge of his tie to lift the lid, frowning when he’s face to face with Agent Turner. It hasn’t been long, Derek doesn’t think – they’re probably only a few hours too late. 

“Shit.” Stiles says, looking away. 

Derek wants to yell at him right now – accuse him of being part of the reason they’re too late – accuse him of everything, the painting included, but he can’t because Stiles throws a hand over Derek’s mouth.

“We’ve got company,” He says, nodding toward the direction they came. Derek hears them now too. 

“Lao’s men. I didn’t hear an alarm system?” Derek says, looking around. There aren’t cameras either.

“Doubt they’re here for us,” Stiles says, motioning to the freezer. “We gotta hide.”

“No,” Derek says, pulling his gun.

Stiles shakes his head furiously and drags Derek behind a storage container, slapping a hand over Derek’s mouth. 

Derek tries to pull away, but Stiles holds him there with surprising strength. He has no choice to but to sit against the container and listen to Lao’s men carry Agent Turner’s body away. When it’s quiet again, Stiles peeks around the corner before sighing and letting go of Derek, finally releasing his hold on Derek’s mouth. 

“You just let them walk out the door,” Derek hisses. “The least we could do here was give Turner’s family a body.”

“If we had stayed there and confronted them then our families wouldn’t find our bodies ever, either.” Stiles says, kicking the side of the freezer. “How does that sound?”

“This isn’t a game, Stiles.”

“I’m not playing.” Stiles cuts back, narrowing his eyes.

“Yeah? Then why don’t we put all our cards on the table.”

Stiles narrows his eyes even more, arms crossing over his chest. “What are you talking about?”

“Your friend at Interpol.”

Stiles’ expression doesn’t change, which Derek is actually impressed by. He stalks past Derek, back toward the door they came in by. Derek follows.

When he catches up, Stiles is sitting against the building, head in his hands. 

“Give me one good reason not to arrest you right now.” Derek says, crossing his arms.

Stiles rolls his eyes when he looks at Derek. “I did nothing illegal for this case.”

“This case,” Derek repeats. “What did she promise you?”

Stiles sighs. “We all have secrets.”

“You don’t get to have secrets. Not with this, not ever.”

“Information.” Stiles says. “They want Lao to walk.” 

“Did she tell you why?”

“They’re going after his boss.” Stiles says, standing. “Bigger fish to fry.”

Derek feels the anger in his chest. Stiles is being lied to and lying to Derek in return. He’s never liked Interpol. “Lao doesn’t have a boss, Stiles. Lao is it. The biggest fish – you want to know what this is all about? It’s about jurisdiction.”

Stiles narrows his eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“You can’t believe just anything a pretty woman tells you. If Interpol arrests Lao on Asian soil, they’ll get additional funding from the Chinese government as a thank-you.”

“What?”

“About half a million dollars, if not more,” Derek says, turning to move toward his car, which he’s now thankful he parked around the block. Stiles follows. “Which, in our case, is now the price for a dead FBI agent.”

“I didn’t know.” Stiles seems genuinely upset. 

No shit, Derek thinks. You don’t know everything. You never will. He takes a deep breath. “We either take Lao down together or our partnership is over.” Derek says, folding his arms.

Stiles seems to stop at that. “So, we’re partners?”

Derek sighs. “You tell me.”

Stiles grins a little, nods his head. “I’m sorry.”

 

Derek drops Stiles off at his hotel, telling him to get some rest before the meeting with Lao tomorrow. He needed to be on the top of his game. 

 

 

Stiles is irritated, to say the least. He wants the information Biyu promised him, really believes she has something on Gerard and his plans for Stiles, but he also believes Derek – it’s all about money and jurisdiction. He wonders if he could’ve saved Turner.

He doesn’t have time to dwell on the thought, because Biyu is in his hotel room, sitting comfortably on the edge of his bed.

Stiles narrows his eyes, eyes darting around the room to check for additional threats.

“I’m alone,” Biyu says, standing. “Welcome home.”

“What happened to Turner?”

“No small talk?” She asks, smiling. 

Stiles curses. “I found the body of a dead FBI agent today. Don’t really feel up to small talk.”

“I’m the reason you found that body,” Biyu says, sighing. 

“Right. Thanks for the sweet breadcrumb trail to a dead guy. Maybe next time you could help out before someone dies.”

Biyu shakes her head. “That was out of my control. Your agent deserved a proper burial.”

“Well he won’t get one. Was his cover blown? What happened?”

Biyu sighs. “I tried. Lao suspected he was working for a competitor, not that he was a government agent…and you don’t believe me, do you?” She steps forward. Stiles steps back.

“Have a pretty good reason not too, don’t I? You lied to me about why you’re after Lao.”

She doesn’t answer, her shoulders shrugging slightly.

“And you’re letting a murderer go free in order to win political favor. If that’s not something that bothers you, maybe I should rethink my agreement to work with you.”

She rolls her eyes. “I’m just doing my job, Stiles. Right now, that job is to make sure the FBI can’t monitor Lao’s accounts during your meeting tomorrow. I don’t care what happens after that. Just remember – I know what Argent wants from you. It’s your choice.” She leans in and kisses Stiles on the cheek, despite his effort to move away. “See you tomorrow, sweetie.” With that, she’s slipping out of his hotel room.

Stiles is starting to consider complaining about how it’s obviously incredibly easy for strangers to get in his room, considering Gerard and Biyu both apparently had no problems, but realizes that will alert Derek to the problem, and he doesn’t have the energy to explain that. He has a lot more important things to think about tonight, anyway. 

 

Derek picks him up early the next morning, a coffee sitting in the cup holder waiting for him. Stiles thanks him for it – he hadn’t been able to sleep last night, the caffeine was a needed and welcome addition to the drive toward the meeting place. 

Derek passes Stiles a key after a while. “You’ll trade your anklet for another watch. Don’t break it this time.”

“She broke it,” Stiles says, taking the key to take the anklet off. It feels weird, having the power to release himself, even if it is while he’s sitting in a car with Derek himself. 

“When they scan you for bugs, you’ll have to manually deactivate the transmitter. When it’s safe, press it again to turn it back on. And dammit, Stiles – you need to turn it back on.” Derek hands the watch over now, too.

“I will,” Stiles promises, fastening the watch onto his wrist.

“Once you give Lao the account number, we’ll be able to scan the money and prove that it’s dirty. Between that and audio from the watch, we’ll be able to put him away for good. We’ll be close by, ready for the arrest.”

“Anything else?” Stiles says, as they pull up next to the surveillance van. It’s a few minutes until he’s supposed to meet Lao – cutting it close thanks to traffic. 

“Yeah,” Derek says, sighing. “Be careful. Good luck.”

Stiles stares at Derek, wondering what’s made him suddenly kind. He nods before exiting the car, straightening his tie and making his way into the building. 

Biyu is waiting for him inside. “We’ll need to go through security,” She says, nodding to someone behind him. Stiles clicks the watch off, nodding. “Are you ready to work with me?”

“I’m ready.” Stiles says, lifting his arms as someone scans him. After the guy nods, Biyu leads him to an elevator. Stiles doesn’t turn the watch back on. 

“I’m going to give you a new account number to use. One the FBI can’t trace, do you understand? One seven two eight three one nine nine two. Got it? Repeat it back.”

Stiles shakes his head. “I got it.”  
“Repeat it.”

“I have a good memory. I got it, Biyu.” He’s not lying. He could repeat the number in two weeks if someone asked. 

She narrows her eyes, but drops it. “Relax, it’s almost over.” The elevator doors open to reveal Lao, seated a table, a game of Pai Gow in progress in front of him. 

He waves his opponent off, standing. “I apologize for the scene the other night – as you’re aware, I’m sure, we can never be too careful.”

Stiles nods. “Of course. I’m glad we were able to reschedule. I think you’ll find this to be the beginning of a very rewarding relationship. For both of us.” He sneaks a couple of the dominos off the table in front off him, surprised that not even Biyu notices. 

Lao grins slightly. “I hope so. Biyu speaks highly of you. Why don’t you give me the account number?”

Stiles nods. “One seven two eight three one nine nine two,” He says, glancing at Biyu out of the corner of his eye – she relaxes minutely. There’s a ding from Lao’s laptop. He smiles and closes it, leaning back. “And just like that, we’re partners. I’ll contact you again in two weeks with your money – minus the ten percent fee, of course.”

“Of course. Pleasure.” He turns to Biyu, hopes she sees that he’s challenging her to hold up her end of the deal. 

She slides a folded envelope into his hand as she leads him toward the doors. Stiles takes a deep breath and turns back to Lao. “What do you think about finishing our game?” Stiles asks, motioning to the dominos between them. “I’ll make it worth your while – an extra ten percent if you win.”

Lao simles. “Alright, very well. Lose your money.”

Biyu narrows her eyes. “What are you doing?” She hisses as she leads Stiles back to the table. 

“I did what you asked. Let me have my fun,” He says back, straightening his tie as he sits down again. 

Stiles loses the hand purposefully. Lao laughs, looking delighted. Stiles challenges him to another game. “Any more and I’ll have all of your money, Cruze. Are you sure?”

Stiles grins back. He turns the watch back on as he slides it off his wrist. “My watch for yours. What’s life without a little risk?”  
Lao considers this and nods, slipping his watch off as well. 

 

He loses that game as well, faking disappointment when Lao scoops up both watches with a laugh. “Ah, well at least I lost my watch to a worthy opponent.”

Biyu seems confused, but that’s what Stiles had hoped for. She helps Lao put the watch on. “It appears luck wasn’t on your side today,” She says as she leads him to the door, narrowing her eyes. 

Stiles shrugs, keeps his posture relaxed as he walks back toward the elevator. He holds the envelope up as he enters. “Lucky enough,” he says, waving it slightly before the doors shut between them. He opens it once he’s outside, fingers shaking as he unfolds a slip of paper. 

Empty. Nothing. A lie, just as Derek had warned him.

He jogs around the corner to the surveillance van, jumping in the back quickly. “Anything good on the radio?” He asks, feeling sick about the blank page, but thankful he’s still on Derek’s good side – it’s not all lost. 

Derek grins. “Not the plan I thought we agreed on, but it works. We have men moving in now. There was clear admittance of everything as soon as you left.”

Stiles grins, nodding. 

Derek stands, shaking the anklet at Stiles and nodding for him to leave the van. “What’s next, partner?” Stiles says, elbowing Derek playfully. Derek rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “Don’t call me that.”

Stiles winks at him. “Sure, partner.”

 

It’s not until Stiles is back in his hotel room that his phone rings. It’s the same number Biyu had used to text him. 

“Calling to apologize for the empty envelope?” Stiles answers, feeling the irritation rise in his throat. 

“Necessary precaution. I had to be careful with information this sensitive.”

Stiles’ heart stops. “You actually have something for me?”

“He’s working with someone else in the FBI. They want you to take the fall for something they’re planning.”

“Go on.” Stiles says, swallowing. It’s nothing more than he had already assumed.

“That’s all I have.” She says, but Stiles doesn’t believe her. “Watch your back.”

With that, she hangs up.

When Stiles tries to call her back, the number is disconnected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the slow update! I had a family emergency. I hope things will go back to normal from now. Hope you're all doing well and enjoying the story <3
> 
> As always, lyrics and chapter title are from Bastille songs.


	20. Get Home

The birds are mocking me  
They call to be heard  
The birds are mocking me  
They curse my return  
How am I gonna get myself back home?  
_____________________________

Things were going good, actually. Stiles hates to feel comfortable, especially when he knows he’s so far from being the one in control – but he can’t help but feel safe. He and Derek had worked two more cases and it was actually surprising how in sync they had been – granted the cases were simple, almost too easy, but it still left him with a feeling of accomplishment when Derek sent him to the storage room with the case file boxes to be put away, never to be opened again. 

Today, though, today was the day he had been looking forward to for what feels like an eternity now - the day he moves out of the god-forsaken hotel and into an actual house. He tries to ignore the fact that the house was found and suggested by none other than Gerard Argent himself (also something he conveniently doesn’t mention to Lydia and Scott when he shares the news). He isn’t blind to the possibilities that this gives Gerard, but the fact that he’ll have his own space but an actual kitchen and an opportunity to feel more “normal” wins over in the end. 

Lydia and Scott are going to meet him at noon to go out in town to do some shopping to furnish the place, as well as pick up some groceries and necessities – Derek had even agreed to allow them to leave the 5 mile radius, as long as they answered their phones if he called and weren’t out past nine, which Stiles had scoffed at – if Lydia was in charge, they’d power through and be done in a few hours flat, with plenty of time for the three of them to set the place up and hang out for the weekend. 

 

And Stiles isn’t wrong – they have Scott’s truck loaded to the brim and Lydia’s SUV packed full and two furniture deliveries scheduled within three hours of leaving the bureau. It’s not until he’s unlocking the door, giddy about seeing it and getting to make something his own again, that he realizes he should have stopped by alone first – what if Gerard had something waiting for him? He hated keeping things from Lydia and Scott, but he wasn’t ready to have this ruined for him – he was too afraid Lydia would tell Derek, something she had been trying to encourage him to do for weeks now, since the incident with the painting. Though trust between he and Derek was getting stronger, especially after he had made the case against Lao happen, despite his deal with Biyu, but he didn’t think Derek really liked him yet. There were times when he thought he caught Derek admiring his work, but other times, he was cursing Stiles’ name and begging him to stop messing around on the job. Stiles would argue that using psychic abilities to solve cases was not messing around, but Derek never wanted to have that argument, so they went on with their days, Stiles joyfully and Derek just a little more irritated than before. 

Stiles stomach sinks when he opens the door – there’s a bottle of wine and flowers on the kitchen counter. Stiles moves to it quickly, glad he gets to it before Lydia because there’s a small flash drive sitting on the counter. He slips it into his pocket just as Lydia reaches over his shoulder to inspect the wine. “Huh – I expected something cheap. Derek went all out.”

Stiles scoffs. “This isn’t from Derek.”

“Oh? Who then?” She asks, smelling the flowers. 

“Finstock, probably,” He lies. “Probably from an assistant.”

Lydia nods. “Either way, it’s nice.”

Stiles shrugs, glad that his phone starts to ring just so he has an excuse to end the conversation without further questioning. It’s Derek, though, so maybe it isn’t the best escape. 

“Yo,” He answers, leaning back against the counter. Scott had disappeared deeper in the house, but comes back just as Stiles answers. Lydia shows him the bottle of wine.

“Back already?” Derek asks.

“Stalker alert,” Stiles says, sighing. “But yes, Lydia is a machine.”

Lydia rolls her eyes, muttering something about being efficient, not robotic. “What are you doing for the rest of the night?”

Stiles glances at his friends and shrugs, even though Derek can’t see him. “Drinking this wine,” Lydia calls out, shaking it in his face. Stiles rolls his eyes.

He’s about to apologize for Lydia listening in, but in the background of Derek’s call he can hear Isaac telling Derek to invite Stiles out with them for the night. Derek’s hissing at him to shut up. “Going out tonight?” Stiles asks, grinning. 

Derek’s quiet for a minute. “Yes,” he says finally. 

“You can come with us,” Isaac shouts from beside Derek. 

“The bar is out of his radius,” Derek cuts back. Stiles starts tapping against the fridge, entertained by the dialogue.

“You’ll be right next to him,” Isaac says, and Stiles can tell they’ve already had this conversation. He hears Erica say something about making out and then Derek hangs up. 

Lydia laughs. “Well, that was interesting.”

“To say the least,” Stiles says, setting the phone down on the counter. “We should start unloading.”

Lydia agrees, leaving the wine on the counter in favor of making her way to the front door. Scott starts singing the mining song from Snow White, and Stiles feels his heart swell – he’s (practically) free and he has the best friends on the planet. 

 

When they’ve unloaded everything and put things in piles in the right rooms, the three of them collapse onto the couch in the living room. Lydia pushes Scott and Stiles’ sweaty limbs away from her and Stiles isn’t actually surprised that Lydia had managed to not help much at all, but is shocked that she made it look like she was. She stands, saying she’s going to get water, and Stiles asks if she even carried in one box at all.

“I carried in at least three,” She says from the kitchen, not even hiding her pride. “I did all the shopping, it was only fair.”

She drops Stiles’ phone in his lap when she returns, water bottle in hand. “You have three texts from Derek.”

Stiles is surprised. He unlocks it, wondering why Derek didn’t just call. 

>> Sorry. Was just trying to check in.  
>> You can come out with us if you want. Tipsy Crow downtown.   
>> Lydia and Scott too.

Stiles is surprised. “You guys want to hit up a bar with my boss?” Stiles asks, searching the bar online as he asks. 

Lydia raises her eyebrows. “Seems like a bad idea, but yes. Definitely.”

“AKA do we want to make sure you don’t get sloppy drunk with your boss and end up propositioning yourself?” Scott asks, winking.

Stiles rolls his eyes, feeling a blush on his neck. “Whatever. This place seems cool,” he says, switching back to his messages to text Derek back. 

<> We’ll get dinner at 8. Check the dress code.

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Should I be offended that he suggested I check the dress code?”

“It’s like he somehow knows the sins of your past,” Lydia says, kissing her cheek. 

“High school Stiles was blind to the fashion world,” Scott agrees. 

“Either way, we need to leave now. I need a new dress if we’re going out.”

Stiles narrows his eyes. “You’re joking?”

She shakes her head. “Cute that you think I might be. Let’s go. Scott needs something better too.”

“I can borrow something of Stiles’!” Scott protests, dropping back into the couch.

She shakes her head. “Up, up. Both of you.”

 

And that’s how they end up in Little Italy in San Diego, Lydia stacking clothes into their arms and shoving them into dressing rooms just hours before going out with Derek.

 

It’s only a little bit awkward when they finally make their way to the Tipsy Crow to meet up with Derek. Stiles realizes belatedly that he doesn’t actually know who all is going to be there and he has flashbacks to Scott and Allison’s short meeting that first week and how terrible it could be if she’s out with them tonight, but the fear fades when Lydia grabs his arm and drags him forward. “Over there,” she says, nodding. There’s three empty chairs at a table in the back corner. Boyd, Erica, Scott and Derek already have drinks. Stiles checks his watch as they approach – it’s 8:03.

“You’re late,” Erica says around her straw, grinning at them.

“You try getting these two showered and dressed on time for a night out,” Scott says, taking the seat next to Isaac. Lydia rolls her eyes and sits down too, leaving the seat next to Derek for Stiles. 

“Stiles is the one who redid his hair three times,” Lydia says, and even though it’s true, Stiles still elbows her. 

A waitress appears and takes their drink orders. Scott gets a beer, Lydia a lemon drop and Stiles asks for a mojito. “Sure, just let me see your ID,” She says. 

Derek snorts. Stiles resists the urge to elbow him, too. He gives her his ID from the FBI, wishing now more than ever he had a driver’s license still. The bouncer outside had checked it too. “I’m twenty five,” Stiles tells her.

She smiles as she hands it back. “Sorry, we’re told to check when we’re unsure.”

Stiles smiles back, but he still feels the hot blush on his neck – he’s aware he looks like a teenager still, he definitely doesn’t need to be reminded every time he leaves the house.

When she leaves, Derek’s still laughing. “Can you grow facial hair? It might help,” He says, sipping his drink.   
“Yeah, I look like a tired drug addict according to Lydia,” Stiles says, running his hands through his hair. 

“I need proof,” Erica says. “I’m picturing a much more handsome version.”

“More handsome than this?” Scott says, reaching around Lydia to ruffle Stiles’ hair. “Impossible.”

Derek snorts again, much quieter. Stiles rolls his eyes. “Just because you’ve had the bone structure of a Greek god since you were twelve doesn’t mean you get to look down on us mere mortals,” He says, regretting it immediately.

“You didn’t see me at twelve,” Derek says, but Stiles thinks he can see him blushing too. He wishes it weren’t so dark. 

“He’s not wrong,” Erica says, leaning forward. “He had the bone structure right, but his ears were huge.” Stiles is sure there’s a blush this time.

“You guys have known each other for that long?” Scott asks, just as the waitress comes back with their drinks. 

“Derek’s parents kind of took me in,” Erica says, shrugging slightly. “Laura and I were on the soccer team together.”

“Laura?” Lydia asks, raising her eyebrows. Derek’s stiff beside Stiles and Stiles feels bad. He’s done his research. He knows.

“What’s good here?” Stiles asks, reaching for a menu. The obvious interruption fools no one, but Derek picks up a menu too, Erica smiles sadly at him and follows suite. 

Lydia narrows her eyes, but she picks up her own menu – she’s nosey, but not a bitch. 

Dinner goes well. They have easy conversation and Stiles sees Derek loosen up more than he thought Derek was capable of – of course, it takes three drinks for him to really be there, but still – Stiles likes this side of Derek. He laughs loudly, is quick with comebacks and his eyes are bright. He tries to ignore that Derek seems to have a habit of pulling his shirt up as he gets tipsy – he does not need to see more of Derek’s body to know that he’s gorgeous. 

The bar has a stock exchange like drink menu, with demand changing the prices. The group orders rounds of drinks depending on the price, wincing through the bad ones and cheering on the good ones. Stiles feels warm and free, so when Erica suggests going downstairs to The Underground to dance, he’s the first to agree. 

On the stairs, Lydia pulls Stiles close to her, eyes serious. “You and Derek are so into each other it hurts,” She whispers, eyes bright. 

Stiles rolls his eyes, but can’t help but notice his stomach flip. “Derek’s straight,” he says, seriously.

“It’s cute that you think so,” Lydia says, just as serious. “Because all the straight guys I know have no problem looking away from dudes practically giving straws head and Derek did not have that ability.”

Stiles is sure his face is red now. So what he has a bad habit of sucking on things as he gets drunk? It’s not his fault he gets distracted.

“Just be careful tonight,” Lydia says, kissing his cheek. “You still have to go to work on Monday.”

 

And Stiles wishes he’d listen to Lydia more often, but he’s never claimed to be the best at listening. He can’t keep his eyes off Derek dancing and definitely doesn’t miss that Derek can’t keep his eyes off Stiles, either. He may or may not make his way closer to him on the dance floor, until they’re finally close enough to talk. He’s had too much to drink to really know what he’s doing with his body, but Lydia once told him that even she was surprised by how good he looked when he danced, so he doesn’t feel too worried about what Derek might think. 

They don’t ever touch, partly because Lydia keeps pulling him away and partly because he doesn’t have a death wish. He’s just curious - something he’s currently trying to convince Scott of - “Curious to see if he’s bi-curious,” Stiles practically yells to Scott when they’re in the bathroom, washing their hands and trying to cool off. 

Scott rolls his eyes. “Because fucking your boss is a great idea for people with normal jobs, but fucking your boss when you’re a criminal under his supervision is even better.”

Stiles had almost forgotten. He pushes the feeling of hurt back easily. “No one said anything about fucking,” he says, splashing water on Scott. 

“Everyone said things about fucking,” Isaac says from behind them, surprising them both. “You practically are fucking.”

Stiles splashes water on Isaac too, but when they go back out, he stays off the dance floor – he’s not the best at listening, but he does have some self-preservation. 

It’s nearly two when Erica drags everyone upstairs, saying she and Boyd have plans for the night and she didn’t want to wait for the taxi rush when bars closed. Stiles didn’t want to know what plans they might have, but he can agree that the taxi rush would be hell, so he coaxes Scott outside too. 

Derek grabs Stiles’ collar, surprising him. “Be smart. Go home. Stay home.”

“I will,” Stiles says, pushing his hand off him. “You can check on me if you don’t believe me.” He feels his face go red. “On your tablet, I mean.”

“I mean it, don’t be an idiot just because we got drunk together.” 

 

It’s not until Stiles is collapsing onto the mattress next to Lydia and Scott an hour later that he realizes what he had said. 

“You can trust me,” He had slurred, patting Derek’s hand. “Just look what I did for the bureau while still working with Biyu. Everyone wins.”

 

Well, shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)
> 
> Title and lyrics are from Bastille, as always - does anyone listen to these songs? Their entire discography is basically the soundtrack to this story. I have an idea for pretty much every song and some of them are gonna hurt and I love that. ;)
> 
> Have a good weekend!


	21. The Currents

I'm swimming to the surface  
I'm coming up for air  
Cause you're making me feel nervous  
I need to clear my head  
I can't believe my ears  
I don't wanna believe my ears  
Swimming to the surface  
Coming up for air  
__________________________________________

 

Stiles looks tired when Derek pulls up in front of his house, despite the fact that it’s nearly 9am already. He has a thermos of coffee and is holding it in both hands, staring ahead of him. Is it possible he’s still hungover from Friday?

“So?” Derek says, raising an eyebrow.

Stiles raises an eyebrow back.

“What’d Biyu give you?” Derek says, motioning for Stiles to go ahead and say it. “You drunkenly told me that I should trust you after keeping the case with Lao strong while also working with Biyu.” Derek reminds him. 

Stiles shakes his head, he doesn’t seem to need reminding. “You were right. She didn’t have anything.”

Derek’s surprised that Stiles even answered him, but isn’t sure he believes him. “If you wanted to let me in, I could see what information I might have for you?”

Stiles glances at him and shakes his head, a small smile on his face. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Derek’s not sure how to respond. Stiles is practically admitting that something shady is going on, but Derek has no idea where to go with it. He sighs and pulls away from the curb.

“What’s on the agenda today?” Stiles asks, changing the subject. 

“Suspected jewelry heist.”

Stiles raises an eyebrow again. “Suspected? And they called the FBI and not the police? I’m intrigued.”

“They were unclear with details on the phone this morning…a boutique in Little Italy.”

“Bluza,” Stiles says, nodding. “I’m even more intrigued.”

“There’s like thirteen boutiques in Little Italy.” Derek says, raising an eyebrow.

“And Lydia dragged me to all of them on Friday,” Stiles says. “I’m just assuming it has something to do with the diamond,” he says, leaning back.

Derek narrows his eyes. “What diamond?”

Stiles looks at him briefly. “They have a show this week – they’re showing off the world’s most exotic pink diamond. Nearly sixty carats - it sold at auction for over 83 million.”

Derek’s intrigued now, too. “And you know this how?”

“I just told you. Lydia dragged me and Scott to all the boutiques for a new dress for the bar.”

“I meant the price of the diamond.” Derek says, seeming bored.

Stiles laughs quietly. “I like expensive things.” 

“You like to steal expensive things,” Derek corrects, rolling his eyes.

Stiles laughs louder. “Wouldn’t steal them if I didn’t like them,” he winks.

 

Derek’s never seen anything like this – inside Bluza, there are several models, holding incredibly still as if they were mannequins, all wearing beautiful dresses and expensive looking jewelry. There’s one woman, standing on a small platform, a plain black dress, which Derek is sure is still worth more than he can imagine, wearing a large pink diamond necklace. Stiles stops, moving close to the model to look closely at the diamond. 

“That it?” Derek asks, looking around for the owner. 

Stiles nods. “The Pink Star,” he says, fingers hovering just above it. The model is watching Stiles carefully, but she doesn’t warn him not to touch. 

A woman approaches, watching Stiles carefully now too. “Agent Hale?” She asks, keeping eyes on Stiles. “Carol. We spoke on the phone.”

Derek nods, extending a hand to her. “Yes ma’am. How can I help you?”

“This is a delicate situation, I would appreciate if we could keep it between us. Please follow me.”

Derek pulls Stiles away from the diamond in order to follow the woman toward a back office. 

“What exactly is the problem? You were a little vague when you called this morning.”

“I believe we were robbed,” She says. 

“You think the diamond is a fake,” Stiles supplies. 

She looks at him and nods. “Watch,” She says, motioning toward her laptop.

It’s security footage of the safe – the timestamp says 2:13am. Someone enters, wearing all black and face covered by a mask, looks directly at the camera, moves a table in front of it and covers the camera. She fast forwards, stopping it at 3:03am. The covering is taken off and the masked man waves at the camera as he leaves. 

“The necklace was in the safe for ten hours. We started the show this morning and didn’t notice this until an hour ago.”

“Why is the necklace still on the model then?”

She raises her eyebrows at Derek. “This is the most important event of the year.”

Derek shakes his head. “Sorry, I don’t care. I’m shutting you down. There’s something wrong here.”

She sighs. She seems to be trying to figure out a way to talk Derek out of it. 

“An 84 million dollar diamond may or may not be missing,” Derek says, waving them out of the office. “We need to find it.”

He’s already calling Erica to come down by the time she clears customers out of the boutique. Stiles had told her (thankfully) that all the models should wait around until they could give statements. 

Stiles is looking closely at the necklace again. Derek joins him. “Is it fake?”

Stiles’ fingers linger toward it again. “I was waiting for your permission to touch.”

The model seems uncomfortable now. Derek nods. “Take it off, please,” He tells her, motioning forward. “Let’s see if we even have reason to be here.”

Stiles only holds it for a few seconds, turning it over in his hands and inspecting it closely with a magnifying glass he must have taken from the owner’s office before he nods. “It’s synthetic.”

Carol is at their side, shaking her head. “That’s impossible,” She says, matter-of-factly. “There’s no such thing as synthetic pink of that size. It simply does not esist.”

Stiles shakes his head too. “Incredibly difficult, but not impossible. It’s done by radiation, which creates an extremely fine inclusion within the stone that's virtually impossible to detect.” He hands it over to Derek. “Unless you know what you’re looking for.”

Carol deflates, looking at Derek. Derek nods, confirming that Stiles does in fact know what he’s looking for. “Looks like you’ll need to alert the owner.”

She looks close to tears. “I don’t know how this could have happened. No one knew the diamond was arriving when it did, or where it would be stored.”

Derek sighs, thankful that Erica, Isaac and Boyd just arrived. He waves them in. “I need you three to start collecting alibis and statements from all the models, employees and anyone else that knew where the diamond was or when it would arrive.”

They move quickly toward the group of models and employees. Stiles starts whispering with the model who had been wearing the fake diamond. 

“What about our man in a mask?” Derek asks, rolling his eyes. “Do you have security footage of him entering the building?”

The owner shakes her head. “No, our cameras only record what happens on the floor and in the safe. We don’t record the hallways. There’s a back door, but the alarm wasn’t triggered.”

Derek has to snap to get Stiles’ attention away from the model. “Do you think he could have hacked the system?”

Stiles nods. “Sure, if you found the camera’s blindspots and snuck through, yeah.”

Derek sighs. “Is that what you would have done?”

Stiles shrugs slightly, eyes scanning the room. “One option.”

Carol looks between them, confused. Derek doesn’t give her time to question it. “We’ll need to take the security footage and the necklace for evidence.”

 

Back at the office, Derek hands the footage in to their tech guys, hoping they’ll catch something no one else did. “Think they’ll find fingerprints?” Derek asks Stiles, who stops at the coffee machine.

He shakes his head. “No, he’s obviously a professional.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “Guess you would know, huh?”

He expects Stiles to bite back, but he’s staring at the conference room instead. “Who’s that with Finstock?”

Derek follows his gaze. “I don’t know, but Finstock doesn’t look happy.”

Isaac joins them, waving toward the conference room. “OPR is here and they want to speak with you.”

Derek nods slowly. “Well, that explains it.” He straightens his tie, starts to refill his coffee mug. He needs more caffeine for this. 

“OPR?” Stiles questions, looking between Derek and the conference room.

“Office of Professional Responsibility. The police have internal affairs, we have OPR.” Isaac explains, pouring coffee for himself now.

Derek makes his way to the room before Stiles can try to convince him to let him follow. 

“Finstock,” Derek greets as he shuts the door behind him.

“Derek, this is Garrett Dryden.” Finstock says.

“OPR,” Derek supplies, shaking the man’s hand.

“Word travels fast here,” Dryden says, a thin smile on his face. “As far as anyone else is concerned, I’m here for a annual review.”

Derek sits down. “Sure, but no one actually buys that. You have my file.” He says, motioning forward.

Dryden seems amused. He nods. “Yes, it’s quite impressive. Seems like you’ve been doing well since your return to work.”

Derek nods stiffly. 

“I’m here to discuss your current case, actually.”

Derek narrows his eyes. “Word travels fast,” he repeats. “Why?”

“Sure does. The only people that knew that diamond was going to be placed in the vault the night before the show were a few NYPD brass and a handful of FBI agents.” Dryden says, leaning back.

Derek takes a sip of coffee. “You think it’s an inside job.”

“Do you know where your informant was last night?”

Derek frowns, turns to look outside – Stiles is still at the coffee machine, staring at them. “Am I being interrogated here?” He asks.

“You’re not,” Finstock answers. 

“So…this is useless – Stiles has an anklet – it monitors movement. Pull it up and see that he didn’t do this.”

“We did.” Finstock says, sighing.

“And?”

“And some data is missing,” Dryden says, leaning forward, hands folded.

“Missing?” Derek asks, glancing back again. Stiles is at his desk, tapping a pen against the side of his computer. He remembers what Stiles had said in the car about Lydia bringing him into Bluza. 

“It went dark for six hours last night. From eleven to five am.”

Derek narrows his eyes. “The anklet can’t be tampered with without a warning being sent out to me. There was no warning.”

“Evidently, the anklet can’t be tampered with, but the system where the data is stored can be. Someone deleted six hours worth of it.” Finstock says, showing the proof on a tablet. 

“Stiles didn’t do this.” Derek says, and he believes himself. Stiles would be an idiot to try to pull something like this off – and he’s not an idiot, as much as Derek hates to admit it – Stiles is probably near brilliant. He wouldn’t get in a mess like this so soon after barely gaining trust from Derek, would he? 

Dryden doesn’t look convinced. “Continue in your investigation, but keep an eye on Stilinski. I want a report back with what his thoughts are.” 

Derek doesn’t thank them when he leaves. He’s too charged.

He stops at Stiles’ desk, who’s highlighting names on a handwritten list. 

“Suspects?” Derek asks, looking over his shoulder. He’s surprised at the number of names Stiles came up with in such a short period of time – he guesses that’s the beauty of having a criminal consultant. 

Stiles nods. “Most of them are in prison,” He says, as he types another name into the computer. The file that pops up tells them that this guy is dead. He crosses that name out in red. “At least it’s getting shorter.” He glances back up to the conference room. “What did they want?”

“Routine review of the bureau.” Derek says, but he can tell Stiles doesn’t buy it – just like Derek had warned them. 

Stiles nods. “Justin Truline,” Stiles says, tapping the last name on the list. “We want to go talk to him.”

“You know him?”

“You don’t?” He’s a professional. Top notch forger. He definitely has access to the tools that he would need to pull something like this off.” He stands up. “Not many people are capable of that.”

“Are you?” Derek finds himself asking.

Stiles glances at him, looks surprised, actually. “If I were allowed within five hundred feet of the equipment, I guess.” He shrugs. “But Truline is a true artist – he doesn’t care about cameras, he’s almost cocky with his work. The wave our masked man gives can show that.”

Derek’s not put at ease with Stiles’ answer. “All right, let’s go see Truline.” 

Stiles jumps up quickly, leads the way to the Camaro in the parking garage. 

 

He’s jumpy and fidgety in the car, which isn’t too far from normal, but it’s a different kind of movement. “You’re like a kid in a candy shop,” Derek comments, pulling up in front of Truline’s loft building. 

“He’s basically a legend,” Stiles says, taking the steps up to the building two at a time. “I’ve followed his work since I was a kid.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “He’s a suspect in a crime. Can you act like it?”

Stiles raises his eyebrows and knocks. 

Truline answers. “How can I help you, Agent…?”

“Hale, FBI. You’re Justine Truline?”

“You know I am,” Justin says, opening the door wider. “Come in.”

“Sure,” Derek says, keeping an eye on Stiles as he walks toward a statue. Justin is watching him too, but he doesn’t seem bothered – he seems proud. “I wanted to ask you a few questions.”

“About the Bluza heist, I’m sure.” Justin says, leaning against a counter. “The Pink Star is missing.”

Derek raises an eyebrow. “So you’ve heard.”

Justin grins. “Whenever something like this happens, someone like you comes knocking on my door.” He looks past Derek, down a hallway. Derek goes toward his pistol. Justin shakes his head at Derek. “Caroline, could you bring the envelope on the bed?” He turns to Stiles. “I got that in the Czech Republic. Beautiful, isn’t it?”

Stiles agrees as a woman comes down the hallway, wearing a silk robe. It’s open in the front – she’s topless, but at least has underwear on. Derek looks back at Stiles – who’s completely blind to the woman, staring instead at another statue. 

Justin takes the envelope and hands it directly to Derek. “You’ll find plane tickets to show that I arrived in Los Angeles from New York just a few hours ago. I have photos from my trip as well.”

Derek slides the photos and tickets out, frowning. “We’ll be in touch. Stay in the area for now.”

Justin nods, a small smile on his face. He’s even cockier than Stiles had built him up to be. 

“Stiles,” Derek says, heading toward the door.

Stiles shakes Justin’s hand. “Big fan of your alleged work,” He says, grinning. “The Feitzi job…just incredible.”

“Stiles,” Derek warns, louder this time. 

Justin seems pleased with the compliment as Stiles moves to join Derek. 

Halfway down the stairs again, Derek slaps Stiles’ arm. “Stop grinning. And could you not treat him like a celebrity?”

“Sorry, the guy’s slick.”

“I was hoping the guy was guilty,” Derek mumbles back. 

Stiles seems surprised. “I thought you enjoyed this part – moving the pieces, finding the right people – the chase.”

Derek sighs as he gets back into the car. Stiles is halfway through his three click routine with the seatbelt when Derek interrupts. “Where were you last night?”

Stiles stops for a second before clicking the seatbelt in a third and final time. “At my house.”

“Alone? Scott or Lydia didn’t stay over? You didn’t go to dinner?”

Stiles is looking out the window when he answers. “I don’t have an alibi.”

Derek starts the car instead of responding.

Stiles sighs, looking at Derek. “Inside job, diamond forgery, OPR's in town. I'm sure I'm at the top of the list.” When Derek doesn’t respond, Stiles laughs shortly. “I am the list, aren't I?”

“Did you do it?”

Stiles seems offended. “Seriously?”

“Did you?”

“Derek…no.”

Derek’s not convinced. 

“I promise.” Stiles says. “I like what I’m doing. It beats the alternative.”

And Derek _really_ wants to believe him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahahaha trusting each other would be really fun wouldn't it?! ;)
> 
> I was told that the officialstereklibrary tumblr shared the fic in one of their tag posts, which is exciting! Hope everyone is enjoying it, I love hearing your thoughts and ideas!


	22. Four Walls

  
These four walls will keep you  
Until you face the rope  
You've only these four walls before they,   
in cold blood, hang you up  
______________  


Stiles calls Lydia when Derek drops him off at his house for lunch. 

“Hey, miss me already?” She answers, voice bright.

“I might need a lawyer.” Stiles says, feeling too anxious to make small talk. He paces up and down the hallway, suddenly remembering the flash-drive Gerard had left him.

“You’re joking.” She says, though Stiles can tell she knows he’s not.

He’s digging through his laundry to find the pants he was wearing Friday, hoping the flashdrive was still in the pocket. “I wish,” He answers, cursing when he doesn’t find it. 

“What did you do?”

“You brought me to that dumbass boutique,” Stiles says, kicking the laundry pile.

“Excuse me? What did I do?”

Stiles sighs – the flashdrive is in the corner by the baseboards. It must have fallen out of his pocket when he threw the pants over here. “That boutique in Little Italy. The one with the jewelry show this week. Remember it?”

“Overpriced dresses that were cheap and ugly, yes.”

Stiles boots up his laptop that Lydia and Scott had brought with them. It’s old and slow, but he doesn’t want to chance opening the flashdrive on his work computer. “Well the diamond was stolen. And I’m the prime suspect.”

“Bullshit. Anklet.” Lydia answers quickly, but Stiles can hear her telling someone to cancel her meetings for the day.

“Derek wouldn’t tell me anything, but something tells me the anklet isn’t saving me here.”

She’s quiet for a few seconds.

“Lydia, I swear. I didn’t do this.”

“I believe you,” She says after a few more seconds. 

He puts the flashdrive into the slot and waits impatiently for it to load onto the desktop. 

“I’m on my way over. Don’t answer any questions without me. Even if it’s just Derek.”

Stiles thanks her, running a hand through his hair after hanging up. There’s still a pang of hunger, but he’s too anxious to even consider going to eat. He flexes his hands until his computer finally brings the flashdrive up.

Inside the only file on the drive is a bank account number and a link to a listing for a building downtown. Stiles has no idea what he’s supposed to do with this information. It’s an old bakery, out of business for three months now and sitting on the market because it’s run down. The bank account information is for an account under an obviously fake name – Adam Jones – but there’s still nearly four hundred thousand dollars there. He checks the bakery again – it’s listed at $410,000. Stiles has no idea why Gerard thinks he should buy a bakery, or how he’s supposed to do it without Derek asking questions. He curses again, ejecting the flashdrive and tossing it into his sock drawer. If Gerard wants him to do dirty work, he’s going to have to be a hell of a lot more clear than this. 

There’s a knock on the door. He runs his hands through his hair again before checking his watch – he still has 35 minutes until Derek told him to be ready to be picked up.

He frowns when he answers it. Finstock is there, along with the OPR agent – Stiles thinks Isaac said his name was Dryden – and Derek, too. Derek’s in the back, arms crossed over his chest, eyes purposefully looking at the ground. 

“You’re under arrest,” Dryden says, pulling handcuffs.

Stiles looks past him, willing Derek to look at him. He doesn’t. “For what?” He says, not moving toward them. 

“We found your signature – a cursive MS – engraved into the fake diamond left behind. Derek says he found the same one on all of your fake work.”

“Derek,” Stiles tries, feeling his throat get tight. He stops himself. He’s not going to start crying, why would he? This is ridiculous. He didn’t do this. Tell them, Derek.

He doesn’t. He doesn’t even look Stiles in the eye. “You have the right to remain silent, Stiles.”

Stiles runs a hand through his hair. “Derek, come on.”

“Remain silent, Stiles.” Derek says, rougher this time. 

Dryden fastens the cuffs on and leads him out of the house. Derek won’t look at him. Stiles doesn’t know why he can’t think of anything else except for how badly he wants Derek to just look at him. 

 

It’s all a blur until he’s alone in a cell again. Then it’s hell. He counts the chips in the concrete wall. He counts the stripes on the mattress – no sheets, not until he’s had a psych eval because he might try to hang himself – he counts every possible thing in the cell and then he starts tapping instead. When a guard comes by to give him a blanket for the night, scratchy and stiff, his hair is greasy from excessively running his hands through it. They haven’t moved him to a room with a shower because he’s still being booked, the decision to move him to a higher security prison or keep him nearby for trial still unmade. 

He taps and he waits. He paces and counts and curses. He stays up all night, trying to figure out why he’s being framed for this, who is trying to make him take the fall – Gerard is on his mind, but he can’t understand why Gerard would do that – what does he gain from letting Stiles out of prison for a few months and then throwing him right back in? There was more to his plan than one measly painting. There always is.

He’s not sure if he’s relieved or nervous when a guard comes by in the morning, telling him he has a visitor. On the one hand, human interaction – on the other, it’s just Derek. 

Derek’s sitting at the table already when the guard leads him in and sits him down, attaching his handcuffs to the table. He doesn’t look Stiles in the eye, but he at least looks up from the ground, unlike he had at Stiles’ house yesterday. 

“Knew you’d come,” Stiles says.

Derek raises an eyebrow. 

Stiles taps his temple, but can’t make himself wink. 

Derek rolls his eyes. “But didn’t see any of this coming?”

“Guess I thought I had people on my team.” Stiles says, unable to stop picking at the chain connecting his handcuffs. 

Derek huffs a laugh, unamused. “You let me down.”

“Bullshit,” Stiles bites back. “I didn’t do this. I was set up.”

“Enlighten me, Stilinski.”

“Working on it.” Stiles says, looking away. 

The guard opens the door again. Stiles has never been so happy to see Lydia. “That’s enough now,” She says. “And you won’t be speaking to my client again without me, Agent Hale.” She sounds rough, icy – like she didn’t spend an hour dancing drunk with him just a few days before. 

Derek frowns. “Lydia?” The question is directed at Stiles. “You said she only takes cases of those she knows are innocent. Or was that a setup?”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Not everything is a set up. Ever think that I am innocent this time?”

Lydia crosses her arms, looks expectantly at Derek.

“For the record, Stiles – I was on your team. I tried to tell them.”

Stiles raises his eyebrows. “Tell them what?”

Derek stands, eyes on the floor again. “That you were great. A great asset for the team. You did good work.”

“I still can.” Stiles says as Derek leaves. “I didn’t let you down.” The guard pushes the door shut behind him, Stiles unsure if Derek even heard him.

Stiles crumbles onto the table, still fighting the urge to cry. 

“Don’t you dare fall apart on me, Stilinski.” Lydia says, poking his arm. “Come on, help me figure this out. Where’s that brilliant brain?”

Stiles sighs. “They found my signature on the diamond, Lyds.”

She nods, pulling folders from her briefcase. “I know. I requested every file the bureau has on you. Then I followed the asshole who arrested you – he dumped these in a dumpster on the way over.” 

The folder is marked with a red tab. He opens it and drops his face in his hands. The documents are shredded.

“I can’t do it all. You’ll be awake all night anyway, put it to good use.” Lydia says, pulling out a new file. “Here’s what I got on the judge.”

Stiles takes the paper from her, scanning it quickly. “Hold on,” He says, narrowing his eyes. “This office, it’s not connected the federal building at all.” He recognizes the street name easily – and if he had to guess, it’s right next to the bakery for sale. 

“So?”

“I need you to go to my house. There’s a flashdrive in the top drawer of my dresser. It’s pretty straightforward once you open it.”

She narrows his eyes. “Sounds illegal.”

Stiles smirks. “I think have a plan, Lyds.” 

She smiles back. “God, I hate your plans.” Stiles knows she’s lying. Thank god for fiery red heads that follow you to hell and back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit shorter than usual, so sorry. I wanted to get something up and I needed to switch to Derek's POV too but don't like doing it mid chapter. Thanks for reading and leaving sweet comments, they're SO appreciated! <3


	23. Final Song

Don't let this be our final song  
So hear me out before you say the night is over  
I want you to know we gotta, gotta carry on  
Don't let this be our final song  
____________________________  


Derek was up all night after his meeting with Stiles trying to figure out what Stiles’ angle could be here. Sure, a diamond that rare would make a great paycheck, but it’s way too high profile for him to easily fence. He would have to wait several months before the FBI relaxed in its searches for it and even then, one wrong move and he’d be discovered. Stiles was smarter than that. He didn’t like to admit it to anyone, but it doesn’t change that it’s true. Stiles was smart. He didn’t make mistakes like this. Derek knows – he read every case file on him that was available. His ultimate downfall was being careless with an alias when he was trying to get home from Germany for a family emergency.

Erica comes into his office, looking just as defeated as he feels. “Everything Truline gave us came back clean. He’s innocent.”

Derek nods. “I figured. What’s Lydia doing? Do we know what they’re planning?

“Legally we can’t follow her. Attorney-client privileges. We know nothing.”

Derek growls. “So we know nothing.”

“Not nothing,” Boyd says, coming in with a file. “We know she just purchased a bakery in Stiles’ name.”

“A bakery.” Derek repeats, reaching for the file. “Where?”

“Good question,” Boyd says, leaning against the desk. “Address redacted.”

“What on earth is he going to do with a bakery while in prison?” Erica says, crossing her arms. 

It’s silent. Derek sighs. “It’s been two days since he was arrested and nothing is making sense. We have nothing.”

“Did he do it?” Erica asks, almost as if she’s afraid of the answer.

“He says he was framed.” Derek answers, even though she wants to know what he thinks.

“Derek.”

“I don’t know. No. Yes, he had to have. Yes.” Derek sighs. “Keep looking.”

The three of them dig through every file they have, follow up on as many names as possible. Most are in prison or had alibis, there’s one or two that they can’t find, but were last seen in other countries. Derek doubts it’s anything. 

Isaac comes in near the end of the day, looking tired. “No luck,” He said, referring to the people he had gone to question that were in prison. They had hoped someone had heard something. “No one knew anything, and I don’t even think they were lying.”

“We’re reaching for straws,” Derek says, waving a hand. “He did it.”

Dryden knocks on the door. “Evening, all…looks busy in here.” He glances judgmentally at the paperwork strewn across the office. “Anyway, thought I should tell you, the arraignment has been moved from the courthouse to the judge’s private office downtown.”

Derek narrows his eyes. “Why?”

“Stilinski decided he’d like to confess. He says he has some names to drop and would like to make a deal, so requested it be behind closed doors.”

Derek doesn’t like it. Something is up. 

“Sorry, Hale. I knew you had a special place in your heart for the kid. Guess he wasn’t as great as you thought.” With that, Dryden is gone. Derek’s angrier at the comment than he thinks is normal, but it doesn’t matter. Dryden’s gone and he’s left with more questions.

“Stiles doesn’t confess. Even when he was offered a deal in his last sentencing,” Derek says, searching through the paperwork to try to find the transcript. Stiles had something about “never kiss and tell” which, come on, Stiles. 

“Then what’s his angle?” Erica asks, frowning. “What if he did do it? Maybe he’s grown up.”

Derek sighs. “I don’t know what he’s doing. We’ll find out tomorrow. He always has a plan. I just wish we were ahead of him this time.”

Boyd and Isaac leave, disappointed and disgruntled. Erica looks hesitant before finally speaking. “What about that envelope?” She asks, frowning. “Did you ever get more information from it?”

Derek sighs. “Nothing. And the painting hasn’t showed up on any of our radar’s either,” He says, running a hand over his face. “I believe him, Erica. I just don’t know how.”

She leans over to kiss his cheek. “Sorry, baby. Dryden is a dick, but I think he’s right. You got attached. You know what they say.”

Derek raises his eyebrows. “No, I don’t.”

“Never name a stray…or never fall in love with a criminal. Or something.”

Derek sighs. “Or something.” He’s not in love. Not at all. And even if he were, it wouldn’t cloud his judgment. Probably.

 

Derek feels jumpy and unsure the next morning, his stomach twisting uncomfortable on the way to the judge’s private office. Erica is with him even though she wouldn’t be allowed inside – Derek had to fight for two hours the night before with Lydia to allow him inside and he still feels like she might change her mind. In the end, she had gotten quiet and sighed before saying “Fine, but he doesn’t want you to talk to him,” and hanging up. Derek wasn’t sure what to do with that. 

He parks around the corner, Erica kisses his cheek and he rushes to the office – traffic had been bad and he only has a few minutes to make it inside. It’s on the third floor and immediately after getting off the elevator; he notices that it’s about twenty degrees hotter up here. He tightens his tie despite feeling like it was too hard to breathe as it was.

He stops just a few feet outside the elevator doors when he sees Stiles and Lydia, standing off to the side of the judge’s office door. Lydia is holding his face, lips moving quickly. Stiles looks sick, skin pale and forehead shining with light sweat. Stiles’ head jerks quickly, bringing Lydia’s hands with him, to look at Derek. He stares at Derek for several seconds before rolling his shoulders and smiling at Lydia slightly. He seems suddenly relaxed. Derek forces himself to move forward. Lydia crosses her arms and stares him down as he moves closer to them, her previous conversation with Stiles apparently unimportant compared to giving him the death glare. 

The three of them stand outside the office, only a few feet between them, for a few more minutes until the bailiff opens the door and invites them inside. The smaller room is even hotter, and Derek considers taking his suit jacket off. Stiles already is, handing it to Lydia after carefully folding it so it can lie across her arm nicely. 

The judge clears his throat. “Bailiff, please, open a window. The air conditioner broke in the building this morning and we couldn’t get maintenance here until this afternoon. Per your request, Ms. Martin, I’ve cleared my chambers. I was told you decided to allow Agent Derek Hale inside, Mr. Stilinski’s former handler?” He sits, waving a hand at them. 

“I do, your honor.” Lydia says, resting Stiles’ jacket over a chair and sitting down. Stiles sits too, relaxed. The sweat on his brow is gone, the color back in his skin – whatever had caused his panic outside is apparently a nonissue now. 

“In accordance to the agreement we made over the phone, you are now prepared to give a full confession?” The judge asks, pulling a notebook out. 

“I am, your honor,” Stiles says, glancing at Derek for half a second before continuing. “There are things in my life that I’m not proud of – I mean, I’m proud of most of them.” The judge seems unimpressed. Derek wonders why Stiles thinks now is a good time to joke. “What I’m doing today…it’s going to make me proud.”

“Go on.”

“I confess that I did not steal the diamond from Bluza.” Stiles says. The judge narrows his eyes. Derek’s phone vibrates in his pocket and he takes the judge’s disappointment to check it. It’s a text from Erica. “The bakery is next door”

“I cleared the chambers and moved the meeting because you claimed to have sensitive information that was vital to this case.” The judge says, crossing his arms. “If you didn’t steal the diamond, who did?”

Stiles grins. He stands, shrugs his shoulders. “I promise I will let you know.” With that, he jumps toward the window, climbs out before Derek can even stand up and leaps off the ledge. 

Lydia gasps, standing too. Derek knows she was in on this; her fake surprise isn’t going to cut it. He runs to the window as the judge shouts for the bailiff to return. Stiles lands easily on the awning attached to the bakery, easily jumps from that and then – the fucker – turns and winks at Derek before darting down the street and into a van. 

Derek turns around and glares at Lydia. She is still pretending to be shocked, telling the judge she had no idea that Stiles would do this. Derek growls as he passes her, pulling his phone out as he goes. Erica’s already calling.

“I turn around from order a coffee and Stiles is running down the street,” She says. “What the hell happened?”

“He jumped from the fourth story window onto the fucking awning,” Derek hisses, taking the stairs two a t time – he doesn’t have time to be cooped in an elevator right now. 

“Dryden is down here, he’s pissed.”

“Everything was fine until he showed up,” Derek says as he joins them outside, hanging up as he does.

“You’re blaming me?” Dryden says, stepping forward. “You couldn’t handle your assignment and that’s my fault?”  
Derek glares at him but doesn’t answer. “Do we know where the van is?”

“There’s units on it now.”

Derek looks around, trying to piece it together. There has to be answers.

“Go back to the bureau. I want you on this, Hale. Find him.”

Derek clenches his jaw as he stalks back to the car, Erica close behind. 

“What did Lydia say?”

“She faked surprise and apologized. I don’t have time to try to get anything from her. She wont crack.”

Halfway back to the bureau, Boyd calls. Erica puts it on speaker. “The only person in the van was the driver. He said he got hired over craigslist to pick up the van and park it at a warehouse. He had six hundred dollars to prove it.”

“And the van had a floor panel that was removable?” Derek asks, but he already knows the answer.

“Yeah.” Boyd says, sighing. “How’d you know?”

“Because no one ever knows his plans. He’s always one step ahead of me. He wasn’t in there for more than a few seconds, I bet. He’s underground.”

“Where do we start?” Erica asks, frowning. 

“His anklet,” Boyd says. “Can’t we track that?”

“Dryden removed it when he was arrested. Don’t need an anklet if you’re in prison,” Derek says, annoyed. “Tell Dryden and Finstock to set up roadblocks. We’ll be there soon.”

“Roadblocks?” Boyd asks. “But he’s underground?”

Derek sighs. “Yeah, leave that part out.”

Boyd sighs too, but he hangs up after agreeing. Erica looks at Derek with wide eyes. “What are you doing?”

“Trusting him,” Derek says, sighing. “For some reason.”

 

The day drags on. Derek has to look for Stiles without really looking for him – it doesn’t help that Derek isn’t actually sure where Stiles is hiding out or what he’s expecting Derek to do next. Erica keeps being afraid that they’re going to accidentally find him with their fake searches, but Derek hopes Stiles is smarter than the obvious places. 

Lydia maintains her innocence, even when Derek promises her that he believes Stiles and wants to help figure out what really happened. Scott was in emergency surgery all morning, but he gives the police the keys to he and Lydia’s house and tells them to search it if they want. They do, of course, and find nothing. Lydia’s office is searched, too. They even contacted the station John Stilinski worked at to see if they’d heard anything. John had called him back almost immediately, frantic – he didn’t even know Stiles had been in prison. Derek promised to get back to him once they’d found Stiles, but he hopes that Stiles was innocent and could talk to his dad himself. 

When five o’clock rolls around, Derek is relieved. On his way out of the building, Finstock calls him to tell him that there’s a unit outside his house incase Stiles showed up there. Derek points out that Stiles doesn’t know where he lives and he can take care of it himself if Stiles showed up, but Finstock insists it’s necessary – there’s one at Boyd and Erica’s house as well as Isaac. 

Derek greets them with a small wave when he gets out of his car, bothered that he’s being watched but trying to be polite. Once inside, he’s immediately aware that something is different when his cat doesn’t come to greet him. He grabs his gun and moves slowly into the house, wondering if it’s smarter to call for back up and then remembering he actually does want to find Stiles without other people around. 

Sure enough, Stiles is sitting at the island in the kitchen, the cat in his lap. She doesn’t even wake up. “I pictured you as a fish guy, honestly,” Stiles says, scratching behind her ears. “The cat was surprising.”

 

“How did you get in here? Why do you know where I live?” The cat perks up at the sound of his voice but doesn’t move from Stiles lap. Traitor. “There’s a unit outside.”

Stiles nods. “I was here before they were, so no problems there.”

“Are you going to explain yourself or do I need to call them in?”

Stiles looks down. “Why don’t you have your cats name on her tag? I’ve been calling her Wigglebutt, but I’m afraid you’re more of a Whiskers or Mittens guy.”

“You have one minute to tell me why you launched yourself out of a fourth story window. Full confession.”

Stiles sighs. “Fine, full confession.” He agrees, “I told you I was set up, Derek. I didn’t steal the diamond. I’m pretty sure it was Dryden, but I don’t know why.” 

“Do you have any proof of this?”

“I was getting to that,” Stiles says, pulling the cat from his lap so he could retrieve a backpack from beside the island. “I had some time on my hands while I was waiting for my trial, so I pieced these back together. Dryden shredded them and dumped them when Lydia demanded my files.” He slides them toward Derek.

It’s a transcript of the phone call he had with Stiles the morning of the break-in at Bluza. “They tapped my phone?” Derek asks, pulling it from his pocket.

“Nah, they would need a court order for that and that is way too messy. They bugged your house.” Stiles says, reaching into his backpack. He pulls a sandwich bag out, full of smashed standard issue FBI receivers.

"And your car, considering that's where this conversation actually went down...so you'll have to be aware of that."

Derek looks around. “What if there’s more?”

“There’s not,” Stiles says, shaking his head. “I’ve been here for six hours. There’s not.”

“They’ve been in my house,” Derek growls, looking around. “They couldn’t have had authorization for that.”

“Nope. They’re dirty.”

“They?”

Stiles sighs. “Trust me?”

Derek stares at him. He doesn’t like that his voice sticks in his throat some. “Yes.”

“This goes higher, Derek. I don’t know what they want from me.”

“Who is included in ‘they’?”

“We need to do some digging.” Stiles says, snapping at the cat. She jumps back into his lap. She still hasn’t greeted Derek. 

“You’re asking me to investigate OPR? The whole FBI? That’s practically suicide.”

“And they’ve already signed you death certificate anyway,” Stiles says. “They’re already investigating you.” Stiles motions at the bugs.

“We’d have to do it all behind everyone’s back. How do you suggest I do that?”

“Clear me. I read up on you, Agent Hale. You were one hell of an agent – it’s what you’re good at. So do it.” Stiles stands, moving the cat to the other barstool. He pulls a phone out of his backpack and slides it to Derek. “I’ll be in touch. This is obviously untraceable. But, if for any reason you need to get ahold of me, I’m hiding out at-”

“I don’t want to know,” Derek interrupts, shaking his head. “Plausible deniability.”

Stiles slings the backpack over his shoulder. “Words to live by. See you.”

Derek nods. “Be careful, Stiles.”

Stiles winks as he hits his fist on the doorframe by the backdoor. “Seriously, what’s the cat’s name?”

Derek rolls his eyes. “Go.” 

Stiles slips out. Derek doesn’t want to know how he’s going to get out of his backyard without being seen – he’s surrounded by neighbors, which means Stiles is probably going to be in someone’s backyard soon. The cat finally moves to greet him. Derek’s pretty sure he wont sleep tonight – he wants to check for bugs, even though Stiles seemed pretty confident. He decides to leave the one in his car for now, not wanting to tip them off to his knowledge of all of them. He should have asked where Stiles found the ones he did. He should have asked a lot more questions, now that he’s alone and processing. Too late now. He’s got work to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little bit longer than usual! Let me know which length you guys like more. As always, thanks for all the sweet comments! I love hearing your ideas and theories <3


	24. Lethargy

Paint the scene for me  
Paint it bright and paint it clear  
I don't want to use my imagination here  
Don't want to use my imagination here  
___________________________________________

It’s three am when Derek’s phone ringing wakes him up, only he realizes once he’s sitting up that it’s not his phone, but the burner Stiles had left with him two nights before. He jumps up and closes the distance to it across the room in two bounds, answering quickly. “Hello?”

“Sup, dude? Can you meet me at Bluza?”

“Dude,” Derek mocks, relaxing. “It’s three am. How are you at Bluza? Is that a bad idea?”

“Hey, Derek?”

“What?”

“I’m a criminal, remember?”

Derek sighs. “I can be there in twenty minutes.” 

Stiles hangs up.

Derek tries to not focus on the how even though Stiles basically told him he broke in and tries to focus more on the why. What could they possibly gain by poking around at Bluza? The manager had given them full access before and they’d found nothing. 

 

Of course, the how is answered before the why when Derek arrives at Bluza. Stiles is sitting outside, leaning against the building with a coffee in his hands, next to the model he had been whispering with when they first were here a week ago. She stands up before Stiles does, but Derek still keeps his eyes on him – he looks tired, worn and dirty and suddenly, Derek wonders if he should have waited to hear where Stiles has been hiding out. 

Stiles offers him the coffee. “Drank mine already,” He says, pushing it closer to Derek. “This is Catherine,” He says, motioning at the girl. She smiles shortly at him as she pushes the door open to Bluza. “She’s Carol’s niece. Also a jewel thief and old friend.”

Derek sighs. “Were you trying to steal the diamond?”

She shakes her head and seems annoyed. “I’m not an idiot.” 

“Anyway, she said she could let us in to poke around. To clear me, we gotta find out what really happened here.”

“Right,” Derek says. “I’ve been trying to think of ways it could have been done, but Dryden has me looking for you constantly.”

Stiles pulls a folded piece of paper from the back pocket of his jeans. “Could you have used a different photo?” He asks, flinging it at Derek. It’s a wanted poster. “Like my ID photo for the bureau.”

Derek laughs shortly. “And made you look less like a criminal and more like a well-dressed and kind intern at a business firm?”

“Whatever, still better than my driver’s license,” Stiles says, moving past the desk and cash register toward the safe. 

“Which one?” Derek asks, sighing. He folds the wanted poster and shoves it into his own pocket. “You have several.”

“Touché,” Stiles says, winking. “So before you got here, I was trying to get a feel for the place, you know,” Stiles taps his temple. 

Derek sighs. “What did the spirits tell you, Stiles?”

Stiles grins. “You’re so against the spirits. What is your detective brain telling you?”

Derek rolls his eyes. “We assumed the real thief went through the blind spots of the camera, but forensics says the alarm was never tampered with and there aren’t any cuts in the video, either.”

“But…” Stiles says, waving his hands toward the safe.

Derek narrows his eyes. “But that’s only possible if he never left the safe to begin with.” 

Stiles nods, a small smile on his face. He motions for Derek to continue. Derek looks around, confused. The room is large, but not large enough to hide out in for long – Everything is sleek and perfectly put together, no seems or obvious hiding places in sight. Off to the side though, a large light is flickering. There’s two of them in the room, meant to keep the safe well lit for the security camera’s sake, even when the shop is closed. Derek moves to it quickly, pulling his keys out of his pocket as he goes. The panel of the light comes off easily, but there’s nothing there, only the flickering light and dust. He deflates.

“Misdirect,” Stiles says, practically bouncing. He moves to the other panel, pulling out a small pocketknife. That panel doesn’t come off as quickly, but when it does, a very obvious secret door has been made behind the panel in the drywall. “I could feel it when we were here the first time, but never had a chance to poke around.” 

Derek pulls the drywall back and the secret panel door pops off easily. The opening behind it has been closed off with a messy brick wall, though. Stiles’ nose bunches up, almost in disgust. “Honestly, how did the FBI miss this?”

“There wasn’t ever an investigation past what we’d done,” Derek admits, sighing. “Tracking was missing from your anklet and from then on, OPR took over.” 

Stiles kicks at the bricks but they don’t move. “Got a sledgehammer?” Stiles asks, frowning at them. 

Derek doesn’t. Who would? What he does have, though, is a memory of a sturdy looking table inside the manager’s office. He gets it, Stiles rolling his eyes when he returns to the vault with the table awkwardly in his hands. It was heavier than Derek had anticipated, which was good, but he was pretty sure he was going to have to break off the table top and use just the base to get the job done. 

“That table is worth more than your yearly salary,” Catherine says from behind them. Derek had almost forgotten she was there. 

“And what, you’re going to smash a brick wall with it?”

Derek nods.

“Okay, big guy. Show me what you got.” 

Derek hopes it works because maybe he and Stiles are on the same side, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want the small victories. When Stiles backs up he takes a swing. 

He was right about the top of the table, it breaks off immediately, the granite top breaks in half and the noise echoes throughout the small room. Stiles curses, cheeks red when Derek glances back at him. Derek just grins and takes another swing, thankful that the bricks seem like they’ll crumble soon. 

It takes more swings than Derek would’ve hoped, but he does eventually clear enough of the bricks away from the opening. He leans against the wall to take a breath as Stiles makes his way into the opening, body practically vibrating with excitement. He taps the brick with his fist before he goes and Derek rolls his eyes at the nondescript way to check the strength of the wall. 

He follows after him, arms practically jelly from strain and he already gives himself an excuse to skip working out the next morning. 

Stiles is running his hand up and down the sides of the tunnel, the other hand on his temple. “Old prohibition tunnel,” He says, glancing behind him at Derek. 

Derek doesn’t see how Stiles would get that information psychically, but there’s no point in arguing it. They follow the tunnel to a staircase. Derek moves ahead of Stiles to push open the hatch at the top, the two of them finishing the climb only to end up on a different block, not far from Bluza. 

Derek glances around. “So now we have to start trying to find witnesses.”

Stiles shakes his head. “Someone’s watching,” He hasn’t stepped out of the shadows of the building. “Can feel it,” he explains, nodding toward Derek. Derek looks around at the roofs – sure enough, there’s a camera that had a front row seat to the area. He pulls out his phone, but Stiles jumps to stop him.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Calling someone in the lab to get this footage for me.”

Stiles shakes his head. “First of all, it’s barely 5am. Second, OPR and Dryden are all over that place. I have a guy.”

Derek sighs. “Of course you do.”

Stiles grins. “I’ll call you when I have it. We’ll meet back at your place. Cat’s name?”

Derek shakes his head. “Don’t break anything.”

Stiles shrugs as he walks away, kicking the hatch door shut behind him. 

“Do we need to go clean that up?” Derek asks, motioning toward Bluza. He has blood blisters on his palms and is already resisting the urge to pick at them. 

Stiles shakes his head without turning around. “Catherine’s got it. See you, Hale.” 

Derek sighs as he watches Stiles slink away, darting across the street and into an alley. He wishes again that he would’ve asked where he’s been hanging out, or at least how long he thinks it’ll take ‘his guy’ to get the security footage. It’s only barely 5am, like Stiles had pointed out, so he decides to find somewhere to get breakfast and coffee. He texts Erica on his way out, asking her to meet him at the place across from the Bureau as soon as possible. 

 

She glances around before sitting down. “Why were you awake so early and what’s so important that I have to be here right now?” She asks, finally sitting down.

“We got something.”

She raises her eyebrows, leaning forward. “We?”

“He called me this morning. Still working on it, but you’re going to need to help me keep Dryden and OPR off my back for a while.”

She looks relieved and nervous. “Is he okay?”

Derek sighs. “Seems like it. A little grimy.”

She nods. “Tell him I miss him when you see him again. Tell him we all do.”

Derek just nods, unsure if he’ll actually say anything. She can tell him herself when they fix things. 

 

Derek’s starting to get antsy by the time the burner rings at ten, picking it up after the first ring. “Good to go,” Stiles says immediately before hanging up. Derek pockets it and leaves quickly, just tapping Erica’s desk as he passes. She sits up straighter and looks around as he gets on the elevator, presumably ready to make an excuse for his quick absence should anyone question it. 

The drive home is longer than ever, Derek feels. He even almost considers taking the old route, which makes him laugh out loud – leave it to Stiles to make him start to face his nightmares. 

 

Stiles is standing at his bookshelf when he gets inside, the cat sleeping happily in his arms. She never does that with Derek. 

“This Laura?” Stiles asks, nodding toward a picture frame. 

Derek feels his body get stiff at the mention of her name. It always does. He’d been able to control it in therapy to get cleared to go back to work, but when it’s sudden like this, he’s never ready. “Yes.” He says, not looking at it.

Stiles nods. “Is your whole family unfairly gorgeous?”

Derek considers just agreeing to end the conversation. “They were. It’s just me and Cora now.” 

Stiles frowns. He pets in the cat rather than responding to Derek. Finally he clears his throat. “Used your shower,” He says, and now that he does, Derek notices that his hair is still wet. “Nothing weird. Just haven’t had access in a few days.”

Derek frowns. “That’s fine. Have you been eating?”

Stiles shrugs. “Here and there. I’m good. Wanna see what my boy got?”

“Your boy, huh?” Derek says, following Stiles to the kitchen. “How many criminals do you know?”

Stiles glances behind him. “Tons, but D’s actually on the straight and narrow. I mean, he has a record but that was from high school. I’m sure even you have some blemishes.”

“I’m not sure someone who can hack into security cameras for their criminal friend on the run can be on the straight and narrow,” Derek points out.

Stiles shrugs, opening a laptop. “You’d be surprised.” He pushes play, effectively ending the conversation. 

Derek’s not sure if he’s glad that it only takes them once to find the true suspect or if he’s mad that he fell for the fake plane tickets Truline had so confidently given him. He crawls out of the tunnel, earning curious glances from people around him, but he’d changed into a workman’s uniform, so the bag over his shoulder and emerging from underground don’t seem so shocking. His back is to the camera until a woman walks back and he glances back to watch her pass – it’s a clear picture of his face. They got him. 

“Steals an 83 million dollar diamond and gets caught because he can’t keep his eyes of a girl.” Derek says, replaying the footage just because. 

“Can’t say she’s my type, but I’m not complaining,” Stiles says, stretching his arms. “You go take him down. Give me a call when it’s safe for me to go back home, will you? I miss my clothes actually fitting.” He slides a phone number over to Derek and then makes grabby hands until Derek gives him the burner phone instead. 

“Be careful, Stiles. I don’t know how Dryden will react here.”

“He won’t, not really.” Stiles says, sighing. 

“What makes you think that?” Derek asks, raising his eyebrows as he pockets the phone number. 

Stiles, ever the bastard, taps his temple and winks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I missed updating last week! <3
> 
> Also, I've just noticed that this has officially hit 50,000+ words, which was the original goal! Only took a couple months extra ;) I still have so much planned and I'm so glad you guys are enjoying it still!


	25. The Descent

  
Tell me how it feels to be on the outside  
With your hands on the glass  
'Cause we know it's the easiest thing in the world  
To be that cynical  
I looked up to you  
Oh, I trusted you  
I put faith in you, guess that's what you do  
Now I'll stare you out as you pass me on the way down  
I'll stare you out as you pass me on the way down  
_______________  


Despite Stiles’ overall calmness about their current situation, Derek can’t say he feels the same. The drive to work the next morning has him agitated; traffic and bad drivers seem to be even worse today than other days. He’d called Erica last night to explain what was going on, and Isaac had been keeping tabs on Truline since. Derek gave him the okay to make an arrest once he had woken up after a night of tossing and turning – he had been giving Stiles a chance to call him and change his mind, but it never happened. He should have expected as much. 

When he walks into the office, Dryden approaches him. “Have you been in contact with Stilinski?”

Derek narrows his eyes. “What makes you think that?” He says, sounding more confident than he feels. Good.

Dryden steps forward. “I can bring the full wrath of OPR on you, Hale. I’ll look over every arrest you’ve ever made with a fine tooth comb. I’ll look more into the shooting at the warehouse last year if that’s what it takes.” 

Derek bristles at the mention but doesn’t react like Dryden wants. “Why don’t you go look over at the arrest I ordered this morning? Our jewel thief is in the conference room as we speak.”

Dryden perks up. “You found Stilinski?”

Derek laughs shortly. “We both know who I found. Someone better get the word out to Stilinski somehow that he’s been cleared.”

Dryden narrows his eyes, but Derek doesn’t wait for him to respond. He marches past him and up the stairs to the conference room, shutting the door behind him. Isaac’s sitting across from Truline, looking bored. Truline looks amused. “How did you know about the diamond?”

Truline grins wider but says nothing.

“Silence isn’t your best choice right now, Truline. I can. Tell me everything you know and I’ll talk to the prosecutor about getting you full immunity.”

Truline seems to find this interesting, sitting up a little straighter. “Why would you offer me immunity?” 

“I don’t think you were the brains behind this operation, sorry.”

Truline raises his eyebrows. “That’s quite an insult. Didn’t your little friend tell you? I’m brilliant.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “Sure, he was impressed. Still doesn’t make me believe this was your idea.”

“You have a little video that proves absolutely nothing. Maybe I was hired to do some work down there.”

Now Isaac rolls his eyes. Derek motions for Erica to come in. She drops a duffel bag on the table, and Truline deflates. It’s the same one that’s slung over his shoulder in the video. Derek reaches in and pulls the necklace out, laying it carefully on the table between them. 

“Well, if you’re asking for my opinion, I can tell you that something like this often has a benefactor.” He leans back, looking smug. “The entire operation from delivery to exit strategy is handed to someone.”

Derek feels like growling. “Tell me something I don’t already know, Truline.”

“Men with…privileged information will hire someone with skills they don’t possess to get what they want. Hypothetically.”

“Hypothetically,” mimics Isaac. “This isn’t hypothetical, Truline.”

Derek hates that when Truline winks he misses Stiles’ winks. “Immunity in exchange for a name,” he says, leaning forward. Dryden joins them now and Derek resists the urge to glare.

Truline grins. “Is this the prosecutor?” 

“Immunity for a name,” Derek repeats. 

He looks between Dryden and Derek and smiles. “Well, I would if I could.” 

“But you cant?” Derek asks, sighing.

“No, ‘fraid not. I’m going to go ahead and request that I speak to my lawyer, too. The more I sit here, the more I start to think this whole case was a setup.”

Derek narrows his eyes and stands up. “Yeah, that seems to be going around.” He glances at Dryden, who seems unaffected by it, but he’s not totally surprised. 

Dryden follows him into his office and shuts the door, so Derek pulls the small bag of crushed bugs out of his pocket and tosses them to Dryden, who catches them easily. “Found these. Look familiar?”

Dryden shoves them into his pocket. “I’m not done with this investigation, Hale. Watch your back.”

Derek huffs a laugh. A threat from OPR – just what he needed to make this day complete. “Sure, just know that I’m not either.”

Dryden shakes his head, unimpressed, before leaving. Derek stands and watches him go down the stairs and onto the elevator, not acknowledging anyone else on his way out. 

Erica, Boyd and Isaac all funnel into his office as soon as the doors shut. “Where’s Stiles? Is he okay?” Erica says, eyes searching Derek’s face.

He nods and gets his cellphone from the drawer in his desk, dials the number on the sticky note that Stiles had given him. 

He picks up on the second ring. “Can I go home?” He sounds distracted. 

“Yes, we’re booking Truline now.”

“I’ll go get him,” Erica says, leaning forward. “Where is he?”

“Do you need a ride? Where are you?” 

There’s muffled sounds, like Stiles put his hand over the speaker and was talking to someone else. “No, uh, that’s okay. I have one.”

“Who are you with?” Derek questions.

Stiles coughs. “Uh, an old friend. Nothing to worry about, nothing to see, move along. See you around.” Stiles hangs up. 

Derek narrows his eyes. “I’m pretty sure he’s with someone.”

Erica raises her eyebrows. “With someone with someone?” 

Derek nods. A text comes in then. It’s from Stiles – “meet me at my house?”  
He stands. “I’m going to go let him know what’s going on. You guys keep an eye on things here.”

“Fine,” Isaac says, leaning back onto the couch. “But we’re meeting up for dinner tonight. I want to know what he’s been doing without us watching.” 

Derek rolls his eyes at him, even though he wants to know, too. 

 

Derek can’t believe it when he pulls up to Stiles’ house and he sees Danny slip into his car and pull out. Danny purposefully keeps his eyes on the road, but Derek knows Danny saw him. 

Stiles already has a red blush on his neck when he lets Derek in. “Was that Danny?”

The blush gets brighter. “Who? What?”

“Tell me why you were with Danny, who works for the FBI as a computer expert, while you were supposed to be in hiding?”

Stiles looks flustered. “Danny who?”

“Someone who works for me was harboring you?” Derek asks, exasperated.

Stiles shakes his head quickly. “No, no! I just…I owed him.”

Derek narrows his eyes. “You owed him?”

“He did me a favor. I did him a favor. Even. Forgotten. Forget it.” 

“This favor…it wasn’t hacking into the city’s security cameras for you?”

Stiles grins slightly but shakes his head. “No, no, of course not. That’d be crazy.”

“And you what…you had sex with him as a thank-you?” Derek asks, rolling his eyes. He can’t believe Erica was right. Stiles is gay. Gay and apparently messing around with Danny. “How did you even meet Danny?”

“Hey, no need to be so judge-y. It’s not like I’m the only dude in this house that likes dudes,” He says, waving a hand. Derek’s turn to blush – how does Stiles even know that? “I’ve known Danny since high school. And before you ask, no, he isn’t guilty of anything and he never helped me before I was arrested the first time.”

“I wasn’t judging,” Derek says, feeling hot. 

“Yeah, you were.” Stiles says, smirking. “But my feelings aren’t hurt.” 

Derek doesn’t know what to say. He scans the house. It’s a mess.

“Like what Dryden did with the place?” Stiles asks, turning around.

Derek shrugs, picks up a frame on the floor. The glass is broken, but he can still see the picture – Lydia, Stiles, Scott, Jackson and girl he doesn’t recognize are sitting at a bench. They’re young. Derek thinks it’s probably from high school. Stiles has a buzz cut and a bad sense of style, an obnoxious graphic tee layered under a plaid that doesn’t match, baggy jeans and ripped shoes. 

“And Mr. Judgey returns,” Stiles says, taking the frame from Derek and sliding it onto the kitchen counter. “I was still discovering myself.”

“So you were still in the closet,” Derek says dryly.

Stiles snorts. “At that point I was swearing up and down I was bi. So, technically no, but also technically yes.”

Derek makes a mental note not to tell Erica how right she was about him. “Who’s the girl?”

Stiles smiles fondly. “My last ditch attempt to prove that I could be into girls. Malia. We’re still friends, she still holds it over me that I dated her for a year and pretended to be into it just to prove Lydia wrong, it’s all fun.”

“Did you date Danny in high school?” Derek asks, genuinely curious now.

Stiles shakes his head. “Nah, nothing that serious. Some hook-ups at parties and blowjobs in the shower after practice. Once I was over myself enough to admit I was solely into dudes, I wasn’t really willing to commit to just one.”

“Slut,” Derek deadpans. 

Stiles chokes on laughter. “Whatever, I’ll wear my Scarlet letter proudly.” He picks up a few more things from the floor. “What’d Dryden do? Was I right?”

“Mostly,” Derek admits. “He threatened me some.”

Stiles glances over his shoulder, eyebrows raised. “Yeah? How?” 

“Said he’d look into everything I’ve done, including…” Derek stops himself. He’s sure Stiles read about it, he’s nosey like that – but he doesn’t want to say it. “He said he wasn’t done. Told me to watch my back.”

Stiles is quiet for a minute. “Laura?” He asks, voice barely above a whisper.

Derek sighs, but nods. “Yeah. If I’m honest, they didn’t really do a lot of investigating. They took my statement, and Erica’s too, even though she wasn’t really there for that much of it and arrested her.”

“Kate,” Stiles whispers. 

“Yes.”

“What happened?” Stiles asks, voice still quiet. “The reports aren’t…there isn’t a lot.”

“Laura was undercover, had been for about three years. We still don’t really know what Kate’s master plan was. She was after something. Laura got too close and Kate got smart. I didn’t get to the meeting place in time to warn Laura that she was on to her. Kate shot her when I got there and she was dead before backup arrived.”

“Four years and no idea what she was after?” Stiles asks, looking away. Something is off about his tone and he won’t look Derek in the eye now. 

“You worked for her. You shouldn’t be surprised.” Derek cuts back.

Stiles huffs a laugh. “Kate was easy. Predictable. It’s…never mind.”

“What?” Derek asks, narrowing his eyes.

Stiles sighs. “Nothing. It doesn’t matter.”

Derek crosses his arms. “I just risked my job for you. You sure you want to keep secrets?”

Stiles isn’t looking at him still, but Derek still sees him roll his eyes. “I said it doesn’t matter,” His voice is sour.

Derek doesn’t respond. 

Finally, after what seems like hours of silence, Stiles sighs. “Look, Derek. I am – was – a criminal. You remind me constantly, but I don’t need to be reminded. Lydia said I ‘got caught up with the wrong people’ and I’m sure my dad said some similar shit. That’s not true. I knew exactly what I was doing. I’m not an idiot.”

“Are you trying to tell me I shouldn’t trust you?” Derek asks, feeling anger deep in his chest. He isn’t really even sure why he does trust Stiles. Everything about him has been drawing Derek in. He remembers hating being in the same room as him, but now he feels at ease. When did that happen?

Stiles looks away. “I’m saying that I know what I’m doing. I don’t get caught up. Everything I do is calculated. If I’m not telling you, it’s because you can’t know.”

“I should put you back in prison.” Derek says, lip curling. 

Stiles shakes his head. “You shouldn’t and you won’t. You trust me too much.”

“This conversation makes me doubt that.” 

Stiles laughs. “From where you are, I’m sure it’s easy to look at me and think everything I’m saying, everything I do, is wrong. Evil. Sneaky. But you have to know this: I want to be here. I like doing this. With you. I’m not trying to fuck it up.” He’s walked to the front door while he was talking. “I’ll see you at work tomorrow.” He opens the door, stepping aside. Shooing him out, practically. 

Derek doesn’t know what to say, so he says nothing. He walks out the door, feeling more uneasy than he has the entire time he’s worked with Stiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love you all, sorry for missing a week! Let me know if there's anything you're hoping to see soon :)


	26. Hangin'

  
Hindsight's a wonderful thing  
When we're all experts who pretend  
Where's a good place to begin  
Let's start with the truth  
‘Cause it gets you in the end  
Hangin' the past out to dry  
String it up, all of your regrets  
No matter how hard you try  
They blow round in the breeze  
____________________________________  


Stiles has less than a minute to search the living room once Danny leaves. He knows Derek is close, probably on his street already, and he also knows that Gerard probably left him something. 

The living room looks devoid of any ‘gifts’ from Gerard, so he checks his room, and sure enough – on his freshly made bed, there’s a new burner phone, a note and a new bottle of wine. Stiles shuts the door right as Derek knocks and he hurries to get to it quickly – all he has to do is keep Derek out of his room, which is easy enough. 

They fall into easy banter quickly, and Stiles almost forgets that the whole mess doesn’t mean it’s over – there’s still a note on his bed, a bottle of wine that’s worth more than Derek’s yearly salary and a phone that could go off any minute with new instructions. When Derek brings up Kate – or when Stiles forces it out of him – he’s surprised. He can see by the way Derek’s looking at him that he knows something is up, but when Derek doesn’t demand answers, he realizes it’s because he thinks Stiles is hiding something – which, he is, but that’s not really the cause for his surprise. 

Laura worked with Kate undercover for nearly three years and she didn’t know what Kate was after, which can only mean one thing: Kate knew all along. The reason they thought she was secretive and elusive was because she was leading them all on a wild hunt for nothing. Laura was always going to be dead, no matter what scenario occurred. Laura was always just a pawn in Kate’s game, and it’s rare that they make it out alive. 

The ones that do…well, it’s because she has something else in mind for you. Which is why Stiles is standing here, alive, right now. He knows what she wants, and for the first time, he realizes maybe Gerard is working with her now. 

When Kate first approached him, he was a senior in high school. She needed his help breaking into Fort MacArthur after hours. Stiles’ class had just gone on a fieldtrip and he’d asked how she’d known, but she didn’t tell him. Just asked if he could do it, offered $500 for his help. 

She picked him up after school on Friday, two blocks from the school itself, watchd Stiles tell his dad he would be at Scott’s, and then drove him to LA. That night, he picked the locks, helped her steal a diary from one of the museum displays, collected his $500, and spent $30 of it on McDonald’s for the two of them. They were sharing a large fry on the drive home when Stiles flipped through the diary and asked what she wanted with it.

She’d been proud. She bragged about lost treasure and a relative on her dad’s side that had knowledge on it’s whereabouts. Of course it intrigued Stiles – he was a bored senior, passing classes with ease, stealing things on the weekends to make a few bucks and fighting off discussions with his dad about his future. College wasn’t going to give him the thrill that he got from picking locks and evading capture – and having a Sheriff as a dad made it too easy to shrug, give back the item and say he was just messing around when did get caught. 

Anyway, it intrigued him. He dug deeper and she told him freely. It was treasure from World War II, things Hitler stole and Nazi’s hid to collect and sell secretly after the war. When the Allies won, Nazi’s committed suicide, got thrown in prison, or relocated and the secret of the treasure was forgotten. Mostly. But Kate’s great-great grandfather didn’t forget about it, and wrote about it cryptically in his diaries. It was a puzzle. Kate had only cracked the first part, she had sworn that it was difficult – but wouldn’t let him see it – which had lead her to this diary. She had snatched it out of his hands then, as if she expected him to try to take off with it or something, despite the fact that she was currently going 70 miles per hour. 

Stiles didn’t hear from her for another year, but her wild hunt had lead him on his own: he was going after treasure too, just not something quite as big as the forgotten U-boat treasure Kate was after. By the time the one year anniversary of graduation from high school passed, Stiles had been to several countries in Africa, Russia and China and stolen some very expensive things in each of those places. Very few of them were for his own benefit – he liked art, definitely, but the thrill of stealing it was more of his forte. He spent a few months in Italy, learning to paint himself – then six months in Canada refining the skill and practicing making fakes. Most of what he stole and sold was for other people. His name got out quick, and there was rarely a week that he didn’t have plans – travel or floor plans. 

He went home after almost getting killed in Belize while attempting to steal part of a pyramid. The Sheriff was happy to see him, Lydia was pissed and Scott was the same old Scott – but he didn’t tell any of them what’d he had been doing. In all honestly, he had been surprised that they welcomed him back so openly without demanding where he’d been or why communication got cut off completely. That’s when he decided that this life he’d chosen wasn’t going to keep him from his friends. He told his dad he got a job at a business in New York, doing restoration and translation of old history and art, but that he could live at home and travel when he needed too. He took online classes from a community college to shut Lydia up, and bought a cat so Scott would stop asking him if he was lonely. 

It made things harder, maybe, but at least he had his family and friends. When Stiles came back from a “business trip” in Tokyo with a black eye, he’d told them he had to fight off a mugger, when in reality he fought against a rival thief over a statue. When his dad found him sculpting and casting replicas of the Benin Bronzes (because he had plans to steal some real ones and needed to replace them with something) he’d laughed it off and said his dad was crazy too think they look realistic, but he still bought out a storage unit and did all of his replication and forging there. 

Back to his point. His point was that the new information from Derek, that Laura never knew what exactly Kate was after, even after helping her steal a few things and being with her for three years, meant only one thing: she was destined to die from the beginning. 

And he didn’t want Derek to find out, ever. He knows Derek trusts him now. He knows that Derek doesn’t really know why he trusts him, but Stiles doesn’t want to lose it. But he knows he will. Time and time again as he plays Gerard’s games. And then he’ll die, probably. Because it’s most likely Kate’s game, not Gerard’s, and Kate doesn’t leave loose ends. When he makes this realization, it’s outloud. Stiles had been surprised by the laugh that escaped his lips. “Kate was easy. Predictable. It’s…never mind.” It’s Gerard that has always been a mystery. But now, he thinks it’s because Gerard didn’t really know what he was doing. Following orders. 

 

Just like Laura was meant to die, Stiles was meant to go to prison so that this deal could happen. He knows this now. Knows that’s why Gerard was at his hearings, sitting in the back in a big coat and a hat pulled low, the perfect picture of someone trying not to be seen. From that weekend in April his senior year, Stiles was doomed to spend years of his life in prison. 

Fuck. 

Really, the worst part of all the realizations he’s having is that they’re happening, rapid fire, in the middle of this conversation with Derek about his dead sister. There’s too much going on, he needs to pace, needs to tap the wall, needs to scream or something, so he starts bullshitting, trying to calm himself while promising Derek he’s trying, or something, because holy shit, he’s going to die when Kate’s done with him.

When Derek leaves, the door swinging shut with a thud with help from the wind outside, Stiles sinks against the wall, fingers already tapping a steady rhythm onto the floor. He can fix this. He can. 

Somehow.

 

When he finally stands, his knees are sore and his spine aches. The short walk back to his bedroom seems to drag on, each step bringing him closer to Gerard’s – Kate’s – next big plan.

His door is open. He had shut it behind him. It’s easy to figure out. When he leans in his doorway, hands in his pockets to hide the trembling, it’s Kate that he sees sitting on the edge of his bed.

She smiles. “Mieczysław, darling. Good to see you.”

Stiles stays in the doorway. “Kathryn.”   
“You don’t seem happy to see me, love.”

“That always did surprise you. Good to see you haven’t changed.” It’s not good. 

She smiles again. “Yes, I do suppose you have a different type.”

Stiles doesn’t respond. It’s always a careful game with Kate. Give away too much and she has too much power. Not enough and she’ll get a little crazy.

“Derek seems well.” 

Stiles can’t control the anger that flashes over his face. “What if he found you?”

“We both know you would’ve done anything to stop him from coming back here, but that’s not the point.” She stares at him for a minute. “You love him.”

“What?”

“Derek. You love him.”

“I love being out of prison,” Stiles says. He doesn’t have time to try to intrepret his actual feelings for Derek.

She grins, evil and patronzing. “Sure, honey. Let’s talk about something else now.”

“The u-boat treasure.” Stiles says, pushing away from the door frame. He needs to pace. He needs to move. Forget looking calm and collected.

“You remember, how sweet.” She pats the bed next to her. 

Stiles can’t help but feel like he’s signing his death wish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come visit me on tumblr! https://sourwolfstilinski.tumblr.com/  
> (And if anyone can make me a new header, I'd love you forever...because I just cannot make beautiful things to save my life ;) )


	27. Shame

I can see a change, I can see a change in you  
I see it coursing through your veins  
And it is a shame, oh it is a shame on you  
I barely recognize your face  
_________________________  


Derek deflates when he sees Stiles jogging up the stairs toward his office – he did hope that Cora would be gone by the time Stiles got in for the day – he really didn’t need his sister knowing too much about the criminal consultant he complained about.

It’s too late, though – Cora picks up on his body language and sits up straighter before turning around to follow his gaze. She shoots back around, a mischievous grin on his face. “Is that him?”

Derek sighs and nods, just as Stiles knocks. Cora looks giddy as Derek waves him in.

“Sorry, don’t mean to interrupt,” Stiles says, tapping the wall as he leans against the doorway. “Just need to know what to work on.”

“He’s perfect.” Cora says, happily.

Stiles looks surprised and amused, especially when Derek all but chokes on air at the comment. 

“Thank you. Can I ask for context?” Stiles asks, grinning. 

“The case. He’s perfect. You’ll help me, won’t you?” Cora turns back to Derek now. “Admit it. He’s perfect.”

Derek sighs. “Stiles, this is my sister. Cora.”

Stiles stands up quickly, extending a hand to her immediately. “Pleasure to meet you,” He says, but he looks absolutely mischievous. He really hoped the two would never meet. “New case?”

“Yes,” Cora says, just as Derek says “We’ll see.”

Derek sighs. “We will go check it out today, Cora. But I can’t promise that we can stay and work this – it’s really not in our job description.”

“Someone fill me in,” Stiles says, picking up a stack of sticky notes from Derek’s desk. 

“I need you to go undercover at my show. I’m an events planner and there’s something going on at the big fashion event I’m in charge of. I think someone might be plotting murder.”

Stiles looks even more giddy, if that was even possible. 

“I think it’s a crime to look that excited about possible murder,” Derek says, sighing.

“Never claimed to be anything more than a criminal,” Stiles says, winking. “I’m in.”

 

And that’s how Derek finds himself standing outside of a building with Stiles taking off his tie and unbuttoning his shirt. He even starts messing up Derek’s hair, which is where Derek stops him, grabbing his wrist and glaring. 

“Eh, don’t be so rude. I’m your manager, remember?” Stiles says, grinning. “The girls and boys like you best a little messy. Unkept.”

“Touch my hair again and I’ll rip your throat out.” Derek deadpans. “I should’ve made you do this.”

“And you be my manager? No one would believe that. You’re way too sexy.” Stiles blushes. “Sorry, I don’t make the rules.”

“Cora said you were perfect.” Derek says, trying to avoid the way his own neck feels hot at the compliment. 

“Well, Cora’s your sister, so it would be kinda weird for her to think you were perfect for the part. Remember how Erica and Isaac both said I was right? And Boyd was thinking it, he just values his life more than the other two.” 

Derek rolls his eyes. 

“It’ll be easy. You just have to be cute and broody, which you’ve obviously got down pat. Chat with the other models, I’m sure they won’t be surprised by your stunted emotional and relational abilities. I’ll be talking to other designers and managers and see what I can find.”

“I’m going to ignore your insults.” Derek says, running a hand through his hair. Stiles was probably right about his hair. If he was going to do this, he needed to play the part. 

“If I don’t insult you, you’d get too cocky about all the compliments I threw at you in the last five minutes. It’d be detrimental for all of us.”

Derek sighs. “We should talk, Stiles.”

Stiles raises his eyes. For a second, Derek thinks he sees fear. “About what? We’re working a case. For your sister. With possible murder. Is there really something more important going on?”

Derek crosses his arms. “Why did you say that?”

Stiles narrows his eyes. “It was all true.”

“Not that,” Derek says, rolling his eyes. “At your house. About being a criminal. Calculated moves. Hiding stuff from me.”

Stiles looks him over and turns around. Derek follows. As he opens the door, using the code Cora had given them, he turns and glances at Derek. “That was all true, too.”

Derek doesn’t have time to respond, or even really think about Stiles’ response, because the chaos in the building takes over before he can process anything. Crews moving lights and chairs and props, models and managers and designers and assistants running around, there’s shouting and music and clatter from set up. Derek spots Cora, in the center of it all, talking to what seems to be designers – Derek guesses designers only because they have assistants behind them, all clutching notebooks overflowing with papers. He’s about to point her out to Stiles, but Stiles seems to notice her at the same time and walks confidently to her. 

When they get there, she smiles at them, stopping mid-sentence. Stiles leans in, kisses both cheeks and holds her elbows in his hands, grinning at her. “Cora, darling, so good to see you.”

She looks relaxed and unsurprised by the switch. “Designers, this is who I was telling you about. My old friend Tyler, and his top model - Derek.”

Stiles turns to greet them, arms moving around animatedly. He all but shoos Derek off, toward a group of models. Half of them are shirtless or wearing practically nothing and suddenly Derek feels out of place, even in his mostly unbuttoned shirt and slacks. He has to trust Stiles to do well on his part of this so he can do well on his. 

 

An hour later, Stiles finds him in the backroom, snapping his fingers to get his attention. Derek tries not to glare as he stands up, quietly saying a goodbye to those he’d been talking too – he’d forgotten many of their names, not that it mattered, considering they were all probably fake, anyway. When Derek reaches Stiles, he’s already talking to someone else. 

“We just need to go by our prop manager and make sure Derek fits in,” Stiles says. “There’s no reason for anyone to join us.”

Derek tries to look uninterested, but in truth, it already seems like Stiles had more interesting conversations than Derek had been apart of. 

“We have people for that,” The woman says, looking around. “No need for you to get your hands dirty. Cora didn’t tell you?”

“If I don’t do it myself, it won’t be perfect,” Stiles says, waving a hand. “We’ll be back for the walkthrough tonight.”  
He waves Derek forward as he starts to walk away, and Derek smiles a little at the woman, hoping he looks like an obedient model desperate for a job rather than an angry boss ready to strangle Stiles.

 

In the car, Stiles clicks his seatbelt on and off three times before sighing and relaxing. “My god, those people are exhausting. How does your sister deal with them?”

“A lot of wine and whining,” Derek says, rolling his shoulders as he pulls away. “At least the people you were with had degrees of some sort. Three of those models are high school dropouts.”

“Unsurprising. Did you get anything good from them, at least?”

Derek shrugs. “The models that work for the bigger designers wouldn’t say much, but a new hire for a less-known designer said that there has been some tension between designers, and not just because they’re all competing in the same industry. She said a lot of it came within specific agencies, rather than being directed at others. I couldn’t get names without looking eager.”

Stiles nods. “Don’t need too, I picked up on exactly that. The biggest designers – Monique and her husband, Yoshi. Their assistant seems terrified of Monique and I’m pretty sure there’s something going on with her and Yoshi.”

“So Monique wants to kill her?” Derek asks.

“Maybe. Cora said she found a gun backstage that no one would claim, right?”

Derek nods.

“Even if Monique was going to shoot someone, either the assistant – Emily – or Yoshi, she won’t now that it’s been found.”

“So?”

“So we keep peeking around and hope we either find out where the gun came from – maybe a disgruntled model – or see if there’s more going on.”

Derek nods. “I’ll see if Monique and Yoshi’s models will talk to me. Where are we going?”

“Oh, I wasn’t completely lying. We need to go pick up some props. And also Isaac and Erica. Definitely Danny. Boyd if we can convince him. A few other people if I can find them. I’d look like a terrible designer if I only had one model for the show.”

“What? We aren’t actually participating. What would we wear?”

Stiles narrows his eyes. “Of course we are. Cora has some things for me.”

Derek’s seen her drawings, but didn’t know she had actually made them. He’s proud, and also a little upset that he didn’t know. “Danny?”

“He did modeling after high school to make money for school,” Stiles says, pulling out a phone. “You might be the hot one, but he’ll be the one that actually knows what he’s doing.”

Derek feels conflicted at that. “I can walk down a runway.”

Stiles glances at him for a second, then back to the phone. “Right.”

“Who are you texting?” Derek asks, trying to read what he can while they’re stopped at a light. Stiles angles it further away.

“Danny.”

Derek hopes he doesn’t look bothered by it. “I thought the favor was paid back.”

Stiles looks out the window, but Derek can see that he’s blushing in the reflection. “Yeah, well, guess there was more to talk about.” He slips the phone back in his pocket and puts a key in the cupholder. “Cora’s apartment key. I’m going to run in and grab who we need. You go by her place and pick up everything, she said she’d help me go through it once we were back at the event space.”

“Everything?” Derek says, narrowing his eyes.

Stiles shrugs. “Her words, not mine. Call her if you need help. Please hurry, we really do need to go over some shit before stumbling back in there for the walkthrough tonight.”

 

Derek’s floored by Cora’s designs. They’re beautiful and weird and definitely not his style at all, but he can still admit that she has obvious talent. He texts her, just to say “wow, stop planning events and participate instead” before he starts pulling clothes off the racks and shoving them into the garment bags on the floor. 

He texts Stiles as he locks Cora’s apartment behind him, asking where to go. Stiles tells him to meet him at his house with the clothes. 

When he pulls up to Stiles’ house, there’s three cars outside – one he now recognizes as Danny’s, an SUV from the bureau, and a truck. He’s about to call Stiles to tell him to come help with the clothes, because it took three trips to get it out of Cora’s apartment on his own, when Scott jogs outside to meet him. 

“Stiles called you?” Derek asks, sighing as he opens the door. Scott picks up a garment bag before nodding. 

“He said you’d probably be pissed but he needed our pretty faces.”

“Our?” Derek asks, frowning. How many of his friends did he just rope into this undercover assignment?” Scott motions for Derek to load garment bags on his outstretched arms, so Derek does. 

“Jackson and Lydia are here too. These all?” He asks, nodding at the bags in the backseat.

Derek nods and picks up the last three on his own and follows Scott inside.

Danny is instructing Boyd and Erica on how to walk down a runway, seeming unbothered by the change in his job description for the day, which is not something Derek can say for Boyd. 

Lydia and Jackson are curled up on the couch, both looking at their phones. 

“Oh, good, you’re here! Come on, you probably need to listen to this too.” Stiles says. “Put those down on my bed, will you?” 

Derek follows Scott down the hall, Stiles on their heels. Stiles calls for Lydia to come help look at their options. 

Stiles’ bed is messy but his room is clean, fresh vacuum lines on the carpet still. Stiles pulls the comforter up over the sheets, unapologetic about it. “Go join Boyd and Erica,” he says, waving them both out. 

Scott salutes as he leaves the room, but Derek stays, staring around Stiles’ room. There’s some photos tacked onto the wall, a few things on top of a dresser, a motorcycle helmet on the floor. 

“What’s that?” Derek asks, nodding toward it.

Stiles frowns. “Oh. Scott brought my bike over. It’s in the garage. I just wanted to work on it to pass time, I won’t like, make a run for it or anything.” He rubs his neck. 

“You have a motorcycle?” Derek asks, wondering why Stiles never mentioned it before. 

Stiles shrugs. “Matte black Triumph Bonneville. My pride and joy. Or it was.” He unzips a bag. “They don’t really let you work on bikes in prison.”

“You can ride it to work.” Derek’s not sure why it comes out so quickly, so easily. He wants Stiles to enjoy things. He wants Stiles to trust him.

Lydia’s in the doorway now, grinning at the declaration she just heard. 

“Just need to prove you have a license and give me the information,” Derek says, trying to make it sound less eager.

Stiles looks surprised. “Hell, you can put a tracker on it.” 

Derek nods. “I might.”

Stiles is hugging him now, tight and quick. Their cheeks brush and Derek’s sure he’s blushing. “Thanks, man. Really. I’ve missed riding so bad, you have no idea.”

Except Derek does. He hasn’t ridden his since Laura died. Their bikes sit under tarps in his garage and have for months. He shrugs and moves out of the room, eager to work with Danny on modeling, which is not something he thought he would ever say. 

He really needs to get his feelings about Stiles in check. The declaration Stiles had made in this same house keep weighing him down, keep making him feel a twist of fear in his stomach. Even so, he finds himself drawn to Stiles, drawn to the moles and the noise and tapping, the quick wit and quicker sarcasm. It’s dangerous. Something has changed in Stiles, he can feel it, see it even, but he can’t make himself detach. Laura would smack him. Cora will encourage him. They were always so different. 

God, he misses Laura.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the slow update! I got hit with the flu and it was a long recovery. Missed you all <3
> 
> As always, you can find me at sourwolfstilinski.tumblr.com!


	28. Way Beyond

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my gosh, I am so incredibly sorry for the long wait. I have a list of excuses to give, but I don't think people really care ;)  
> I promise this is not abandoned, I love this story and will see it to the end. Thanks for sticking with me. Here's a long one to make up for the wait :)

  
The animals break out their cages now  
Chaos is raining down around us  
But here we stand with our arms folded  
Do you wanna be free of this?  
______________________________  


It’s a long afternoon in Stiles’ living room – at least it feels like it, even after only an hour of working alongside his friends to get the correct model walk and looks. Boyd looks bored out of his mind, but to his credit – takes it seriously when it’s his turn to strut down the hallway and take criticism from Danny. Scott is in the kitchen the whole time, drinking a lemonade and glancing at his phone often, sometimes picking it up to tap at it frantically before putting it back on the counter. Jackson’s never once looked up from his phone, seemingly busy, but Derek caught a glimpse of Candy Crush, so he knows he’s faking. 

When Stiles and Lydia finally emerge, it’s when Derek gets a standing ovation from Danny. Stiles cheers too, even though Derek’s pretty sure all he saw was Derek’s triumphant collapse onto the couch beside Jackson, who quickly closes out of Candy Crush and pulls up a New York Times article on police brutality instead. Derek rolls his eyes but doesn’t comment – he doesn’t think Jackson would appreciate being called out and he really needs as many of Stiles’ friends on his side as possible. Besides, Jackson seems like the one most likely to be on his side as it is – he was the one to arrest Stiles in the first place. 

Stiles and Lydia are leaning over the kitchen table now, and it’s the first time Derek’s noticed sketches are strewn across that. Lydia is tossing some straight to the floor and lining up the others, so Derek stands from the couch and goes to the table to see what it’s all about. They’re runway sketches – props and ideas. The one that catches his attention first has three motorcycles as the main props, a couple helmets and tools drawn in too. 

 

“Where are we getting the other bikes?” Derek asks when Stiles taps it and Lydia brushes the other two off the table to join the other ideas.

Stiles glances at him. “Well, if you’ll let us, I know you have one in your garage.”

Derek narrows his eyes. He’s angry at Stiles for snooping, for touching things that were Laura’s. He wants to say as much, but Stiles is already shaking his head.

“Figured. Scott has one, it’s not as nice as yours, but it’ll do. And Danny knows a guy that can be convinced.”

“You’re calling him,” Danny pipes up. “I told you. We broke up years ago.”

“He always liked me more anyway,” Stiles quips back, winking.

“Why did you snoop through my garage? That’s Laura’s stuff.” His voice comes out nastier than he had expected. It catches Erica’s attention. She moves closer to the table. Even Jackson’s looking up from his phone now. 

Stiles narrows his eyes for a second, seemingly confused, before shaking his head quickly. “I didn’t – that was –” he taps his temple. “I had no idea it was Laura’s bike I was seeing. It’s not always clear.”

Derek sighs. He doesn’t know if he believes Stiles, but he does keep only mentioning one bike. There are two under the tarp in his garage. “How long will it take to get Scott’s and…your friend’s bike here?”

Scott looks at his phone. “Uh, under three hours for mine. With no traffic. A little quicker on the bike than my truck, but still, probably closer to two hours.”

Derek looks to Danny.

“Don’t look at me. I don’t talk to Axel anymore.”

Derek narrows his eyes at Stiles. “You’re going to ‘convince’ a biker named Axel to let you borrow his bike for a fashion show?”

Stiles grins a little. “Don’t think I didn’t miss the judgment in your voice.” He shrugs. “I dunno, I’ll call him, see if he’s in town and go from there. Maybe an hour. Maybe more.”

“More.” Danny says, rooting through the fridge. “He’ll want at least an hour with you.”

Derek tries not to show his jealousy and embarrassment at the connotation, but he feels his neck getting hot and feels Lydia’s eyes on him, so he’s pretty sure it didn’t work. 

Stiles shrugs, turning to Derek. If he notices the blush, he doesn’t let on. “So there you have it. At least two hours. Do you have another plan?”

It’s already 3. Cora had texted him to tell him the run-through happened at 6. That leaves very little time for error or practice or getting the actual clothes on, so Derek sighs. “There’s two bikes,” He says, waving a hand. “Mine and Laura’s. They probably don’t run well right now.”

Stiles looks conflicted, but Lydia claps her hands. “Perfect! You and Scott will go load up your bike and then follow Derek to his place. Call the rest of us when you are headed back to the warehouse and we’ll meet you there in Danny’s SUV.”

Stiles is staring at Derek, intently, like he’s trying to see if Derek really is okay with them using his bikes. Erica is doing the same thing. Derek nods, afraid his voice will betray him – because if he’s honest with himself, he’s not sure how he feels about the bikes being used, especially Laura’s. Cora will be happy – she’s been bugging Derek to get them out for weeks. Stiles sighs, conceding, and motions for Scott to follow him to the garage. 

Derek starts to follow, but he’s grabbed by Lydia on the way. She pulls him into the hallway, looking closely at him. “Axel likes to test Stiles’ abilities.” She says, finally. 

Derek isn’t sure what that means. He stares back.

“He asks a lot of questions. Tests Stiles’ knowledge. He has a weird obsession with...anything more than normal. He broke up with Danny because he was convinced Danny had a knack for sensing supernatural things and wasn't being honest about it." 

It's a lot to take in. Derek wants to comment on how unstable the guy sounds. Instead, he shrugs. "I didn't - I don't care what Stiles does...I mean, as long as it's legal." It sounds as much like a lie as it is. 

She smiles knowingly. It's a dangerous look on a woman. Derek would know - he's seen it too many times on his sisters and Erica. She pats his chest and backs up a step, and it's not until then does Derek realize how close they were standing. "Sure, honey. See you soon." She moves quickly away, leaving Derek to hope he doesn't look as caught as he feels. 

Stiles comes in, narrows his eyes at Derek as he passes. "Reason why you're standing with your ass pressed against my wall?" He asks, disappearing into his room. 

He's back out with his helmet in hand, before Derek comes up with an answer - but he does manage to move away from the wall (and leave the hallway entirely, thank you very much) by the time Stiles comes back down. 

"If I didn't know better, I'd think you'd have been cornered by Lydia," Stiles says. 

Luckily, the comment seems to have been directed at Lydia, who smiles sweetly at Stiles from her spot on Jackson's lap. She points at something on Jackson's phone and Jackson swipes a finger there - is she honestly helping him decide his next move in candy crush?! 

 

Stiles is waiting by Scott's truck, fingers tapping the metal bed incessantly. He's not paying attention, and doesn't seem to notice that Derek's coming until Derek puts a hand over Stiles', putting a stop to the tapping. 

Stiles jumps a little, hand gripping the bed as Derek lifts his off. "Impatient much?" 

Stiles taps once more. "Not anymore. Lead the way, boss." He motions at the Camaro before getting into Scotts truck, the window rolling down as he closes the door. "But really, it doesn't matter. I already know where I'm going." 

Derek rolls his eyes and makes his way to his own car. Thankfully, Scott waits to start driving until Derek pulls away from the curb and starts toward his house, thought something tells him that's Scott being respectful more than Stiles letting Derek lead the way to his own house. 

Whatever. He'll take what he can get. 

 

Once at Derek's house, he rolls down his window and waves at the driveway in hopes that Scott will back in to make it easier to load the bikes, and pulls up by the curb himself. Scott does back in, and by the time Derek's walking toward them, Stiles has already jumped out and is opening the garage door alarm box. 

Derek's about to push him away, but Stiles is already tapping the code in. "What - how?" 

Stiles taps his temple as they wait for the garage to lift. "How'd you think I kept your alarm from going off last time I was here?" 

Derek hadn't wanted to really think that far into it. He still doesn't. 

Stiles is waiting at the tarps, eyes wandering across the other labeled boxes and miscellaneous furniture. Scott's waiting at the foot of the truck bed, texting, so at least he's not looking through Laura's things too. 

Derek pulls the tarp off, glad it takes Stiles attention away from the box labeled "Kate Argent: Case Files". 

"Which is yours?" Stiles asks, running his hand over the handlebars. 

"The grey," Derek says. "Laura's is - was - the red." 

"Ducati's," Stiles says. "Monster....1200?"

"1200 S." Derek says, swallowing. He’s impressed that Stiles can pick up the model. He must really enjoy motorcycles, then. 

"These bikes are..." Stiles shakes his head, shrugs his shoulders. 

"What?" Derek asks, folding his arms. "Your Triumph is only a few thousand dollars less, if you're insinuating that they're too expensive."

Stiles shakes his head quickly. "No, no - I mean, my bike was a gift, but...I'm not judging your purchase, dude." 

"Then what?" Derek says, narrowing his eyes. 

"Forget it, Derek. Let's load up." 

Derek isn't in a good mood, but it doesn't change that they're on a case. He feels judged and overwhelmed, guilty for using Laura's bike as a prop after not looking at it once since it got dropped off a few days after her death. Stiles is pushing Derek's toward the truck, leaving Laura's bike for Derek to follow behind with. 

"These won't all fit." Stiles says, stopping just short of where Scott is waiting to help lift the bikes. "You said these don't run?" 

Derek narrows his eyes. "It's been a while. They need maintenance to be street safe." 

"So...that leaves my bike." 

Derek crosses his arms again. "You planned this." 

Stiles fakes offense. "I did not." 

"Yours can lean against the tailgate." Derek says. 

Stiles makes a noise of surprise. "Excuse me? That is not happening." 

"I'll ride it over then." 

"Also not happening." 

Derek glares. Stiles glares back. 

"I'm not allowing you on that bike." 

"An hour ago you said I could ride it!" 

"That was before." 

"Before what?!" Stiles asks, throwing his arms up. 

Derek clenches his jaw. Scott is pretending to not be paying attention, but Derek knows for a fact that he doesn't have a single app open on the phone he's staring so intently at. 

"Let me ride my bike." Stiles says, kicking the truck tire. He kicks it again, not as hard. 

Derek shakes his head. 

"Oh my god," Stiles hisses. "Is this because of your monumental trust issues when it comes to me, no matter how often I show you that I'm fucking loyal, or is this because you still haven't dealt with Laura's death and seeing her bike has you in your feelings?" 

"Fuck off," Derek hisses, pushing the button for the garage to shut harder than probably necessary. "Get your damn bike off the truck. We have shit to do." 

Scott jumps up at the same time as Stiles. Derek doesn't help, even when Stiles almost loses his footing and drops the back of the bike, Scott stopping it just in time for it to not scrape against the side of the truck. Stiles shouts a curse and clenches and unclenches his jaw, fists flexing. 

Scott wraps a hand around Stiles' wrist and gives him a look. Derek's not sure what the look is meant to be - sympathy, calming, a warning? Either way, Stiles' shoulders drop and he sighs, running a hand over his head. 

They load the bikes in silence, Stiles' bike sitting in the grass of to the side. When Derek's satisfied with the placement of the tie downs and blankets on his and Laura's bikes, he hops down and sighs. 

"Scott will ride my damn bike over. Happy?" 

"Uh, no, I won't," Scott says, speaking up finally. "Last time I drove it I almost crashed." 

"How?" Derek says, narrowing his eyes. "You said you have a bike." 

"I have a street legal dirt bike," Scott says, hands up. "Which maneuvers a bit differently than a 12,000 dollar Bonneville." 

"Fine. I'll drive it." Derek says, clenching his jaw.

"I'm not letting you touch it." Stiles says, kicking the truck tire twice again. How does that not bother Scott?! 

Derek rolls his eyes. "Like I'm letting a criminal get on a bike with no way to know where you'll go."

Stiles looks hurt for half a second before it turns to anger. "This has shit to do with who I am." 

"I'll drive it." Derek says, final. 

"If the roles were reversed, you wouldn't let me drive yours," Stiles hisses. 

"My bike is more expensive and has more kick. You'd wreck it in seconds." 

Stiles clenches his jaw. He kicks the tire twice again, his fists bumping the side of the truck twice each before speaking. "So when you think I'm commenting on how much you spent, it's 'your bike is barely less expensive' but now that you're pissed at me, my bike is suddenly shit and apparently, so am I?" 

"That is what you were commenting on," Derek says back, exasperated. 

"I was going to say it's too nice of a bike to sit in the garage. That Laura would've hated to know it was under a tarp, getting no maintenance, in a dark ass garage, surrounded by case files that caused her death!" Stiles shouts, pulling his hair again. "But it's none of my damn business, so I didn't say shit. Can you tell me what the fuck your plan is, so we can go solve a murder?" 

Derek feels guilty, sort of. Also still bothered. It is none of Stiles' business. But he's probably going off emotion right now and that's not totally fair. He sighs. "Get your helmet. Stay behind Scott and in front of me. I'll shoot you if you try anything." 

Stiles doesn't respond, or even seem happy that he won. He just stomps to the passenger side, yanks his helmet out, pulls it on and goes to his bike. He sits staring at his phone after it starts up, ignoring both of them. 

It sounds different than the Ducati's, but it's still a motorcycle and Derek didn't realize how badly he missed the sound. 

"Do you know where you're going?" Derek asks, turning to Scott. 

Scott nods, lifting his phone slightly. "Stiles put in the address in on the way over here." He seems mostly unaffected by the argument he just witnessed, but Derek knows it won't be the last time he hears of it. This will get to Lydia. 

Derek doesn't acknowledge Stiles as he goes to his own car. 

Scott pulls out of the driveway as Derek starts his car and Stiles revs the bike's engine. Derek sees grass and dirt fly back and hit his house. Asshole. 

 

The drive is fine up until the last block. Stiles takes a left turn from the wrong lane and Derek has no choice but to go straight. 

He pulls out his siren and turns it on, making a U-turn and speeding past cars to get back to the intersection. He sees Stiles turning right at the next block and presses harder to follow. 

Stiles doesn't stop, racing down the centerline as cars move slower than Derek would like to the side of the road. Stiles takes a left and then swerves through traffic to get into a crowded parking lot, where he stops the bike and gets off in the same second. Cars slow down around them, the people at the gas station staring. 

Derek pulls up close, shutting off the siren and getting out, leaving the car running just incase Stiles gets any ideas. 

Stiles marches toward him and pushes against his chest. Derek grabs his arms and pushes him against the Camaro. 

"Turn your damn sirens off and put them the fuck away, you dumbass." He's hissing, barely above a whisper. He wrestles away from Derek and twists around. "You're undercover." Stiles pulls it off the magnet and tosses it into the passenger seat. "Fucking one block away from the warehouse and you're flashing lights, are you serious?" 

"And what the fuck are you doing?" 

"Getting gas. Like I fucking texted you that I was going to. You check your damn phone at every vibrate usually, excuse me for not realizing you were blinded by your anger." 

Derek sighs. 

"Can you get the fuck back to the real world, dude? I'm not trying to be an insensitive prick, okay? I get it, your sister is dead and you don't want to deal with it. Someone else is going to die. Tonight." He runs a hand over his face. "Can you please just chill out?" 

Derek swallows. "You're an asshole." 

"I've never pretended to be anything different. You're an alpha male with little to no relational and emotional building blocks. People still act like you're worthy of respect." 

"What's that supposed to mean?" Derek asks, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

"That you repeatedly treat me like scum. Anytime you feel vulnerable, I become your punching bag." 

Derek sighs. "We need to go." 

"I need to get gas. Which is why I came here in the first place." 

Derek waves a hand at him. Stiles rolls his eyes and moves away from the Camaro, back toward his bike. 

Derek waits until Stiles is done getting gas to start his car again, replying to Cora's text asking when they'll be there while he waits. Stiles wasn't wrong - not that he'll admit that to Stiles ever. He'll work on it.

Stiles doesn't say anything when they get to the warehouse, but his anger has melted. Derek thinks he's forgiven until they go inside and Stiles greets another designer. 

Right. Back under cover. 

Stiles turns to him. "Go find the others. Bring the bikes in." He waves him off. "Find me when they're in. We need to do a final fitting." With that, Stiles marches toward what another model had told Derek was a break room for the designers and handlers - fully catered and air-conditioned. The model room had fans running and a cooler with water bottles and fruit. Derek thought it was just the model diet until one of them brought out a bag of cookies and passed it around. Seems they’re just deemed unworthy of the money it would cost to have all that available. 

They seem to have fallen into their roles easily. Boyd is relaxed and almost dopey looking, which is not something Derek’s seen before – it’s almost unsettling. Isaac is with them, and it’s the firs time Derek notices that he wasn’t around at Stiles’ house – he wants to ask where he’s been, but knows he can’t without it seeming weird to the other models. Another time. “Tyler wants us to get the props unloaded and meet him for a fitting.”

His friends stand up, Lydia unwinding her limbs from where she’d been making out with Jackson. None of the other models seemed bothered by it, but it makes Derek’s skin crawl. 

 

Stiles seems on edge when it comes to the fitting. He has the bags of clothes and is handing them out, waving the girls into dressing rooms – or, makeshift ones, pipes and curtains giving some semblance of privacy – but he seems distracted. When he hands Derek his outfit, Derek leans in. “What’s up?”

Stiles ignores him, waves him toward Jackson and Boyd. 

“You’re kidding?” Derek says once he looks at what he’s been given – it’s a jumpsuit. Light grey, slightly dirty already. Like he’s a mechanic or something. 

Stiles doesn’t even look at him, just opens a suitcase full of shoes and accessories. Lydia and Erica come out, looking incredible already. Cora’s designs fit them perfectly, like she had them in mind already. 

Stiles snaps his fingers when he glances up from the suitcase. “Hurry up. You don’t get paid to stand and look pretty. You get paid to wear my shit and look pretty.”

Jackson’s already stripped down to briefs, his outfit 100x better than Derek’s. Boyd’s is too, and Danny already has leather pants on, a dark navy turtleneck going on next. Scott pulls his on and Derek’s only halfway relived because while it’s also a jumpsuit, it looks way nicer and cleaner than the one Derek’s holding. And it has a matching jacket. 

Derek doesn’t understand fashion. 

When Stiles turns around and sees that Derek’s not even started, he clenches his jaw and snaps his fingers. “Let’s go, please,” He says, grinding his teeth. “The seamstress will be over in two minutes.”

Derek listens, only because he feels even dumber being the only one not wearing Cora’s designs. He’s buttoning up the top when Stiles shakes his head and unbuttons it, leaving all but the very last button open. His belly button is showing. Stiles rolls the sleeves halfway, leaving them messy. He hands Derek a hat and then drop down, rolling the ankles up a little too. Lydia hands him a pair of shoes, smiling brightly at him. Stiles moves on to fix Scott’s – leaving all but the top button buttoned on him. Someone’s picking favorites. 

When the seamstress does arrive, Stiles grabs a can of red bull from the table and looks over everyone. “Stay on target. I have shit to do.” And with that, he’s gone.

 

Derek doesn’t see him again until the show is starting. Even though it’s only a walkthrough, tensions are high. They’d spent a few minutes with other models, but not enough time to really get enough information out of any of them, and now, with designers yelling instructions and cursing at outfit malfunctions, it’s easy to think any of them could be murderers. Stiles is just messing with people’s hair, paying very little attention to Derek in general, which Derek doesn’t care about. Really.

Each designer gets the runway for ten minutes to figure out logistics and there’s ten different designers, so it’s mostly a lot of sitting around and waiting. They all watch the other practices, grouped around the stage while designers yell at each other and at their model teams. Stiles seems jumpy, eyes never staying on one person for very long, another red bull can clutched in his fist, but Derek hasn’t seen him take a single drink. Stiles hushes him when he leans in to ask if he knows anything, which just pisses Derek off.

Stiles gives a few instructions while they have their turn, but it’s not nearly as intense as the other designers had made it seem – though, to be fair, most of this is because Danny had planned all of this back at Stiles’ house and they were only doing what they had practiced there. The three bikes are set up along the runway, the girls stop and pose on Stiles’ bike sexily, but other than that, they just add flare to the look. Derek chances a look at Cora, who seems proud of her work – he just wishes she were getting the credit for it, not Stiles. 

After everyone’s had their time, Yoshi stands and starts speaking into the mic that a stagehand had set up just a second before. Cora is standing close by, probably waiting her turn. “Hello, friends, designers and models. I am so honored to have you all here, and want to say thank you to the ever-lovely Cora Hale for believing in my vision here and helping me put this together. As I was designing our looks, I really had something big in mind for this reveal.” He stops, clearing his throat. He reaches down to adjust the mic stand. It happen quickly – there’s a jolt of electricity, the power goes out, and there’s an unmistakable sound of his body hitting the ground with a shout. People are screaming, and Stiles lets out a loud “Fuck!” beside him, but then is grabbing Derek, stopping him from moving forward to help. “You’re a model, not a cop,” He hisses into Derek’s ear. The power comes back on. Monique is at Yoshi’s side, already crying, shouting that he’s dead. Someone’s calling the police. 

Stiles curses again. Cora looks shaky and upset and Derek wants nothing more than to go to her. But she doesn’t even look at them, just clears her throat and shouts for every one to be calm. She tells everyone to back away, go back to the greenrooms and wait for police to arrive. Nobody is permitted to leave. 

Most of the models move quickly, some even seeming bored. Most of the designers are already looking back at their notes and discussing changes with their assistants. Derek hates these people, boneless and heartless and horrible. Someone just died in front of them. Cora glances at them then, eyes shooting daggers at them, then moving to motion toward the model room. 

“We need to talk to as many of them as possible,” Derek whispers, moving the group toward the break room. Right after the murder is the best time to get answers – the murderer is often shocked and doesn’t have their story right. 

Stiles is following, and then suddenly, is pulling Derek into a broom closet and shutting the door. 

“I got fucking electrocuted right before the show started,” He hisses, lifting his hand. There’s a burn on his thumb and finger, his hand shaking.

Derek narrows his eyes. “What? How?”

“I saw it coming. I had a vision,” He taps his temple thoughtlessly as he says it, as if it’s habit. “And I tried to fix it. I did fix it. I replaced the cord. I was keeping an eye on everyone, trying to see who might be surprised when their trick didn’t work.”

Derek’s pissed. “You were going to tell me this when?”

“I had no time,” Stiles hisses. “I warned Cora and then it was time to start the show. We can’t be seen whispering and talking. It’s suspicious. I’m already getting questions about ‘my favorite toy’.”

They’re calling him a toy? Derek rolls his eyes. “Obviously you didn’t fix it.” 

Stiles lip curls. “God, you’re an asshole. I told you. I replaced the cord. That means, sometime during the show, the murderer went back and messed with them again. Probably went back to check their work and found it replaced and had to hurry to make it happen again.”

“Who?”

Stiles opens his mouth, but then someone’s walking by. Derek doesn’t recognize the voice, but Stiles’ eyes go wide. “Anyone know where Tyler is? The designer with the bikes?”

“Buckle in, buddy,” Stiles whispers, as someone tries the doorknob. 

And then Stiles is making out with him. 

In a closet. 

Hands inside the jumpsuit, roaming Derek’s chest.

Derek barely catches sight of Monique before the door slams shut – she’s giving them privacy.

Stiles doesn’t stop right away. When he does, it’s with a loud curse. He smacks his fist on the wall four times before leaving, shutting the door behind him. 

 

So. That happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry sorry sorry again. I really hope to be back to weekly updates. Crossing my fingers!


	29. Way Beyond (pt 2)

  
Have you and I been sleepwalking way too long  
Won't someone pour ice water on me  
  
  


A steady stream of curses. That’s all Stiles can think right now.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, shit, fuck, dammit.

He finds the models, all huddled together in the breakroom area. At least his friends are playing their part, looking just as distressed about the murder that had just occurred as the other models around them – Erica even looks like she’d been crying. Stiles grabs Scott’s arm, not caring that it may look suspicious to the other models – it’s not like he can actually become a suspect, anyway.

After pulling him out into the hallway and letting the door shut behind them, he’s unsure of what to say. 

“You look like you’re about to have a complete fucking breakdown,” Scott says, grabbing either side of Stiles’ face, forcing him to focus. 

Stiles pulls away, taps at the wall behind them instead. “Yeah,” he agrees, mind racing. 

“What happened?”

“Made out with Derek,” Stiles says, cursing again. 

Scott just stares at him. “More,” He says after a few seconds. “Gotta give me more.”

“We were talking, you know,” He waves a hand, “And someone was coming and I – I panicked. I started making out with him.”

Scott relaxes. “So you kept your cover. And now you’re here to tell me so I can tell the others that there’s some weird boss and model relationship between the two of you, see if we can work it to our advantage somehow.”

Stiles can’t stop tapping. It’s driving even him crazy. “Yeah, yeah,” He agrees. “Uh, on like, a higher level than that, I kept making out with him.”

Scott raises his eyebrows, grinning a little. “How was he?”

“Man, I’m fucked.” Stiles says, pushing away from the wall. He can hear someone coming and knows it’s probably Derek. 

It is Derek. He doesn’t look pissed, at least. A little less put together than he did for the walkthrough – his hair is messy thanks to Stiles, his jumpsuit ruffled. 

Stiles walks the other direction. He doesn’t have time for this. Not now.

 

Stiles scans the room for Emily, Yoshi and Monique’s assistant. She’s ruffling through papers on Yoshi’s desk, gathering them. He walks toward her, actually thankful that he’s on edge after the kiss – it helps him look freaked out about Yoshi’s death. 

“Can I help?” He asks, offering her a water bottle he’d grabbed from a cooler along the way. 

She looks flushed. “I’m just trying to clean up a little, since they’ll probably want to see what we – he’s been doing, you know? He asked me to tidy up earlier, but I just – I don’t want Monique to have to look at his work right now.”

Stiles nods, glancing over the pages she’s collecting. Designs, just as Emily said. She finishes gathering them and then tucks them into a folder, then shoves that folder into a drawer in the desk before she busies herself with making a protein shake for Monique – the fifth or sixth Stiles has seen Monique have since they started here.

“Are these all Yoshi’s?” Stiles asks, thumbing through the pages of designs left on the desk. Emily’s initials are on the bottom of some. 

She hesitates, and then shrugs when she sees that he’s looking at one of hers. “Most of them, yes. I like to mess around with designing sometimes. I mean, ultimately it’s up to Yoshi and Monique what gets used – I mean, it was. Just Monique now.”

Stiles sets them on the desk. His phone buzzes in his pocket – a text from Derek. “Need to talk” is all it says. Ever the conversationalist. Stiles rolls his eyes and pockets it. “Do you want to be a designer, then?” 

She doesn’t look at him. “I mean, we all do? I bet even most of the models do. We just don’t have the hundreds of thousands that you all have.”

“Hard work will get you there.” Stiles says, but it sounds just as inauthentic as it is. He has no idea what gets you ‘there’, he’s never even considered designing something before. 

She excuses herself, lifting the protein shake up as way of explanation. Stiles looks around at the papers on the desk for a while longer, hoping to find some sort of clue, but as soon as the police come in that’s his cue to leave – undercover or not, it looks shady as hell to look through evidence without anyone else around. 

Stiles wanders out of the room, unsure of what he’s looking for exactly. There’s chaos all around him. 

Suddenly, he’s pulled into a closet. Derek, of course. 

“I texted you,” He whispers, keeping his eyes on Stiles’ nose. Stiles can tell he’s avoiding eye contact. Coward. 

“Was kind of in the middle of something – do you have something important to share?” Stiles says, angling his head down to try to force eye contact. Derek’s an expert averter. 

“One of the models was dating Yoshi. Like, seriously dating. For years. She heard Scott whispering to Lydia about – about the closet thing between us – and then she just opened up to me. Monique probably found out and wanted to put a final end to it.” Derek’s ears are red.

It seems promising. “Did you ask her if she thought it was Monique?”

Derek stares back. “No, I didn’t think to interrogate her. I’m undercover.”

Stiles wants to hit him upside the head. “Uh, okay, and like, half of the beauty of that is getting people to tell us more than they would if they knew who we are? Or you are – people love to tell criminals shit.” He smiles angelically just to counteract Derek’s glare. “Anyway, just so you know, normal people have conversations. You don’t, obviously, because you’re some sort of robot alien, but the rest of us like to talk about feelings.”

Derek narrows his eyes. “Aren’t you charming?”

Stiles winks at him and leaves the closet, pounding his fist on the frame on his way out. As far as hanging out in a closet alone with your boss after making out with him goes, it went smoothly. Derek just refused to look him in the eyes – could be worse. A lot worse.

Stiles hangs around the other designers. Monique is a sobbing mess, but Stiles feels like something is off about it. She answers all the questions from the police officers through tears but when they’re not speaking with her directly she’s calmly drinking her protein shake and looking at emails on her phone.

An hour later, they’re all released from the warehouse – with a promise made to the officers that they all will be available in the hotel across the street, which Cora had briefly mentioned that all the models and designers were staying there, but Stiles hadn’t really thought much about it. 

Still, when they show up and Stiles gives his (fake) name in the lobby, four room keys are handed over to him. The receipt he’s given tells him the rooms cost $550 dollars a night. Once in the elevator, chaos erupts. “Four rooms? There’s more of us here than four. Who’s bunking up?” Isaac asks, crossing his arms. 

“Lydia and I,” Jackson says quickly, plucking a key from Stiles’ hands easily. 

Boyd grabs one immediately after. “I’m with Erica. “

“I’ll room with Scott,” Danny says. “Isaac, feel free to join us.”

Isaac plucks the third key from his hand. “Fine, but I get a bed.”

The elevator doors open and they all funnel out, leaving Derek and Stiles staring at the final key in Stiles’ fingers. 

He steps out. “Hey, wait a minute! Wouldn’t it make more sense if I room with Danny and Scott?”

Isaac turns around. “Sure, if you guys weren’t fucking.” 

Derek’s cheeks are definitely bright red. And his ears. His neck, too. He might actually be entirely red. Stiles feels a similarly hot flash on his neck. “Nobody’s fucking,” He says, but his argument drops off to nothing when the second elevator door opens and models from the warehouse step out, effectively ending the conversation, much to his disappointment. 

Derek’s pinching the bridge of his nose and leaning his head back, like he can’t possibly bear the idea. Stiles grabs his elbow and practically drags him into the rom behind him. 

Derek shakes Stiles’ grip off his wrist as soon as the door latches shut behind them. 

“Did you get anything else from her?” Stiles asks, running a hand through his hair. The room is incredible with a view of the city to die for, but there’s only one bed. 

“Yes.” Derek says, staring at the bed. 

“Okay, and?” 

“There’s only one bed.” Derek says, looking back at Stiles. His gaze still stops just below Stiles’ eyes. 

“Yes, genius, excellent observation skills. I assume you also saw that our couches are the size of small child? I am not sleeping on one of those. It’ll fuck my back up.”

Derek practically growls. “I’m your superior.”

“Not in this world, buddy. I’m the designer and you’re just my hot model boyfriend.”

Derek’s ears are pink again. “I’ll call for a cot.”

“No, you wont. Don’t fuck this up. Unless you have concrete proof Monique killed her husband, you and I are sleeping in that bed and making heart eyes over the breakfast buffet tomorrow. Stiles Stilinksi does not fuck up being undercover.”

Derek opens his mouth.

Stiles cuts him off. “Don’t fucking mention it. That was not my fault and you know it.” Not to mention he had technically kept his cover for the person that mattered. Lao never found out who he was. 

Derek actually throws his hands up in surrender. 

“Can you focus?” Stiles asks, drumming his fingers on the counter top. There’s a bottle of wine that probably costs as much as he makes in a week, but he finds a corkscrew in a drawer and opens it anyway. Derek narrows his eyes, but he still shuffles closer to the bar and takes the glass Stiles pours first. 

“It wasn’t Monique,” Derek says after a few minutes of sipping wine in silence. Stiles was practically about to vibrate out of his skin, so it’s a good thing Derek finally said something. “At least, that’s what Adriana said.”

“Is she the one that was having an affair?”

“Technically Yoshi was the one having an affair. Adriana was just dating him.”

“Are you sure that’s how that works?” Stiles isn’t. Now that Stiles has challenged it, Derek seems unsure too. “Not important. Why does she think it wasn’t Monique?”

“Because she thinks it’s the assistant. Emily – well, she’s not just an assistant. She’s technically the vice president of the company and half of it goes to her now that he’s dead.”

“Wait, what are you wearing?” Stiles says. Derek looks exasperated and actually, truly squawks when Stiles grabs at his shirt to check the tag.

“Its one of Yoshi’s,” He says, batting Stiles away. “Which is in no way relevant. I couldn’t find my stuff and that jumpsuit was doing no one a favor.”

Stiles disagrees but now is definitely not the time to argue that. “No, yeah, this is definitely Emily’s designs.” He’s looking at the tag again. It definitely has Yoshi’s name only. “They were stealing from her.”

“Add it to the list of reasons to kill him,” Derek says, pushing Stiles away a final time. 

Stiles thinks about it. It does seem likely, but she had seemed very shaken up about it all this morning in the design space when Stiles found her making the protein shake. “I guess. She seemed sad.”

Derek stares at him. “Sad? She seemed sad. That’s your defense of her?”

Stiles narrows his eyes. “Uh, yeah? I’m not saying I’m sure. I’m just saying.”

“Don’t worry everyone, psychic Stilinski solves it once again!” Derek says, voice louder than it had been. “The previous suspect was ‘sad’ and therefore cleared. Case closed.”

“God, you’re a dick,” Stiles says, pouring more wine into his glass. “If you’re so sure it’s Emily why don’t you just arrest her?”

There’s a scream from the hallway. Derek practically causes Stiles to spill his glass of wine in his hurry to get past him to open the door. Stiles is right on his heels, glass carefully but quickly discarded on the bar countertop. 

Down the hallway a few yards, Monique’s body lies in an awkward pile. Lydia is knelt over her, tears in her eyes. She meets Stiles’ eyes and looks genuinely upset. Stiles hurries to her side, Derek on his heels. 

“What happened?”

Someone is calling 911 while someone else calls for help down the stairs. They’re on the fifth floor, there’s no way shouting down the stairwell is helping anyone. 

“She was just – I left the room to get some snacks.” She motions beside her. There’s a bag of kettle chips and a cellophane wrapped brownie with the hotel’s logo on it discarded a few feet away. “She was on the elevator with me and said she wasn’t feeling well. I asked if she needed help with something, and she just said she needed to have Emily make her another shake – but then she just – she just collapsed.”

“Not breathing,” Derek says, his fingers on her throat. He pushes her over and starts CPR. Stiles is sure Derek knows how useless it is at this point. She’s been dead for over a minute and by the sounds of it, it wasn’t exactly sudden. 

Adriana is crying a few doors down. Stiles pushes Derek off of Monique. “Go talk to the model,” He says, taking over CPR repetitions. It makes his skin crawl, putting his lips on the lips of a dead person, but if it’s possible to bring her back, it’s worth it. 

Boyd takes over several minutes later and Stiles is glad – his arms are burning when Boyd finally pushes him out of the way. It’s completely useless at this point, but there’s a crowd of crying models and it feels like the only thing holding everyone together is that someone is trying to do something. 

It’s another hour before they’re back in their rooms. Stiles would rather be with Lydia than cooped up with Derek for a multitude of reasons. He’s brushing his teeth for the fourth time in the ten minutes they’ve been in there and texting Lydia and Jackson. She’s shaken up, but okay. 

“Jesus Christ, they’re clean,” Derek hisses from the mini bar. He’s drinking a beer. 

“I just had my lips on a dead person for five minutes, fuck off.”

Derek seems to consider this for a second and then he’s in the bathroom brushing his teeth, too.

 

It’s probably an hour later when Stiles finally speaks again. He’s been pacing back and forth going over the scenarios in his head. None of them make sense. 

“Tox report should be back by morning, but it’s looking like poison.” Derek says, looking up form his phone. 

Stiles sighs. “Get anything else from the model?”

Derek shrugs. “No. She just cried a lot.”

“Okay, tell me again what she said earlier.”

Derek sighs, seeming bored. 

“Do you have something better to do?” Stiles asks, clenching his teeth. 

“She and Yoshi had been together for nearly three years and he really loved her, but she always knew that it would always stay a secret. He talked about his wife highly and wouldn’t even let Adriana use the same glasses as her. She accepted that as enough. Emily made the most sense to her because she would get so much of the company if something were to happen to either of them.” Derek shrugs. “Now they’re both dead and Emily still seems like the most likely suspect. She inherits everything.” 

Stiles shakes his head. “There’s more here.” 

Derek rolls his eyes. “Why won’t you just admit that everything about this screams that she’s involved?” 

Stiles ignores him and paces again. 

 

By 2am, Stiles has fallen asleep slumped over in the desk chair. Derek fell asleep sitting up in the bed; phone still tight in his hands waiting for the toxicology report back from the lab. 

At 3, Derek wakes up and swears at the sight of Stiles in the chair. It practically makes his neck and back hurt just looking at him. After a minute of deliberation, he sighs and stands up. 

He tries to wake Stiles gently, but the younger man shoots up in a flailing mess of limbs as soon as Derek touches his back. 

“Fuck,” He says, calming down at the sight of Derek. “Tox report back?” 

Derek shakes his head. “You just — you should sleep on the bed. It’s big enough for both of us. Just looking at you was making my neck hurt.”

Stiles rubs his neck at the mention. It is sore. “Right. Thanks.” 

Derek strips his shirt off, so Stiles does too. If it’s a game of chicken, he’s down to play — so when Derek starts unbuttoning his pants, Stiles follows suit. 

Derek untucks the sheet from his side and then pulls the comforter off Stiles’ side. “Okay?” He asks, motioning. 

Stiles nods, climbs into the bed. His body relaxes almost instantly, sinking into the soft mattress in a way it couldn’t hunched over the desk. 

Derek seems freakishly still beside him as Stiles gets comfortable. He holds back a laugh when he remembers he called Derek a robot alien earlier and considers mentioning it again now that the man beside him is bone stiff. 

He decided against it - he’s not willing to make Derek mad, not after all that’s happened today. He’s barely had time to think about making out in the closet, but now that it’s crossed his mind he can’t stop thinking about it, and oh god, that same man is now practically naked in bed next to him. Derek had pulled him closer and kissed him back. His hands roamed Stiles’ body just as wildly as his had Derek’s. This is basically his wet dreams except for the whole...just coworkers and definitely not together thing. 

They can’t be together. Because Stiles is a recovering criminal — well, okay, he’s still a criminal. Thanks to Gerard. He wonders for a minute if he would still yearn for the high of theft and forgery if he didn’t have Gerard planning it for him. 

If Derek is the other option, he thinks not. 

Which is terrifying, really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry that it's been almost a year. Life has been kicking me when I'm already down. I love this story and won't give up on it, promise!

**Author's Note:**

> If there are obvious and terrible mistakes, please feel free to point them out. I did a quick read-through before posting, but I don't really trust myself. Thanks for reading!


End file.
